Conchobar - His Story
by akeleven
Summary: Sara goes to Ireland to visit Conchobar's family and discovers her past, both ancient and modern.
1. Prolog

Conchobar - His Story  
Sara goes to Ireland to visit Conchobar's family and discovers her past. Many thanks to Penny for taking the time to beta this.  
DISCLAIMER: Standard disclaimers apply  
SPOILERS: Up thru Maelstrom.  
**************  
Prologue  
**************  
"Sara"  
"Our tragedy is as old as the night  
Our fable done told a thousand-odd times  
For fate is an unmerciful queen  
Made a quest out of you  
And a soldier of me  
I curse the stars that take you away  
Take you away from my side  
Condemned to burn  
My chariot wheels  
Chasing the love of my life  
Whoa-oh, oh É  
Whoa, Sara, it's the pageant we play  
For ever and eternally fated  
Oh, Sara, I done followed you too far  
I can't let you slip away  
And our destiny is bound like a knot"  
--------  
He saw her. He had waited so long but when it happened it still took his breath away.  
  
She was walking toward the stage. He hastened to complete the chord he had almost dropped. The band would think he was losing it.  
  
She was just as beautiful as he remembered, even if this form was different. He had seen her in many shapes and guises but he would always recognize her.  
  
He ended the set and hopped down to speak to her. She had signaled that she wanted to talk to him. He had so much to say that he feared scaring her away. His first remark came off sounding flippant . . .  
  
"I know you."  
  
"Sara Pezzini, now you know me"   
  
At least he had her name now. If she bolted he could find her again, this time.  
  
A young woman interrupted. Without thinking he spoke the truth. "It's rude to interrupt a man speaking to his wife."  
  
Sara took it to be flirting. That was fine.  
  
Was he Conchobar? There lay a tale - long and tragic. Actually it was his stage name, his given name this time was John Patrick. But the stage name was the bait that he was using this lifetime to find her. It made him sick to remember when he was Conchobar. Drunk with power he thought then he could have everything, everybody he wanted. But his ruthless pursuit of power and iron hand only served to drive her away and seal his reputation - his karma - as a tyrant.   
  
All the lifetimes since had been spent trying to atone for that one. Though he couldn't remember it, he suspected he spent a few lifetimes as a toad to pay for Conchobar's behavior.  
  
So someone was making sacrifices to Cathain - he wasn't surprised at that. Some would welcome the power that would come with Cathain and the Witch's Glove. By calling Cathain back to life someone could seize the legendary power to help the cause of the caller. Perhaps to settle things in Ireland to their advantage - "Past glories restored."  
  
John, aka Conchobar, went back to the stage to sing the beginning of the ballad that told Cathain's story. He trusted in fate to make the next step possible.  
  
The next day she awakened him to question him about the latest sacrifice. It was so easy to be with her that everything he said sounded snide. More than once he kicked himself for the directness of his words.  
  
"It isn't really flirting if you intend on following through. In that case I'm not flirting either."  
  
When John left the station he knew she followed - and lost her out of habit. A habit he acquired in his early teen years hanging with his rebel brother.  
  
The next evening Sara came to the club to propose a trap to capture the killer, but the last verse of the ballad was already written. When Sara bolted he could only surmise that she had solved the puzzle, that she knew where to find the criminal.  
  
Later when she returned to report success he was ready with a casual proposal. "Why not come by my apartment tomorrow night before I come to the club? I can sing something quieter then, something acoustical.Ó  
  
And then he waited to see if she would respond - remember, or feel something of their past.  
  
She came the next evening about an hour before he had to leave. Enough time to tease her yet short enough that she wouldn't feel pressured. They made plans for lunch the next day. He began to dare to hope.  
  
Lunch got personal. There he was telling the sordid tale of his break from the church. She laughed easily with him. She didn't remember him yet but they were comfortable together.  
  
The invitation to her apartment was made with a knowing smile. He would be close to his beloved again. Time stood still and made him relive the centuries of waiting all in a day.  
  
When they finally embraced he was home again. The Witchblade was their third wheel. John was accustomed to the strangeness that it brought to their love making. He ignored it in the joy of being reunited with her. He still couldn't speak of their history but it seemed possible now.  
  
When she slept he tried to stay awake - to experience every moment, every breath, every movement. How many lifetimes would it be before he found her again? Stay with the now - experience what you have, he told himself. Their romance had been repeated, rekindled so many times. But few were the lives where they were given much time. Maybe this time they would have years together - grow old together, even have a family together. So many times they had reunited and than been torn apart.   
  
This time he had reasoned that if he were a performer she might find him. He used the Conchobar persona to attract her - although it could drive her away as easily.  
  
Now he had found her. She was a cop and he a troubadour - perhaps fate would let them live.   
  
Lord! he would go back to the church if that could happen! Perhaps soon he could tell her about their past lives - awaken the part of her that would remember him. And then make amends for what those memories would tell her!  
  
His awakening had come to him when he was sixteen. He had been truthful when he said he hadn't killed anyone lately. But before he knew who he was and who he was looking for John had done some rash things, following in the footsteps of his older brother. It was exciting for a fifteen-year-old. Violence could yet be returned to him for the violence of his youth.  
  
"Consortin' with cops, me maw would be so pleased."  
  
In the morning they were awakened by the phone. Sara was called to work and left him there.   
  
Another night of intimacy. He knew every inch of her - knew what would please her. She accepted pleasure with happy abandon. The next morning John was anxious - it wasn't good to be too happy - something could take it away. When she left for work he made a vain attempt to lure her back with silliness.  
  
"I'm warning you. You're helpless. You're completely under me thrall!"  
  
When the thugs took him he knew it was all over. This was the end of the time they had together.  
  
He didn't want Sara to come after him. Why should they kill her too? The Witchblade had a task for her that was certain. He hadn't awakened the past in her memory - she could find happiness with someone else. She could go on to find another love in this lifetime.  
  
"Oh, I'm a musician. If you want quiet, kidnap a mime."  
  
She came anyway. She tried to bargain with them. Then that wicked Fiona shot him! He didn't blame her for her bitterness but this was really petty. Perhaps she would spend some time as a toad!  
  
Sara returned with a ransom to meet the bogus demands of the kidnappers. Then her kinsman showed himself. All hell broke loose - as anyone could have predicted. Here it was turned against his beloved!  
  
The Witchblade was their enemy now on the wrist of Fiona. Every shot that Sara took was turned away. More than anything John wanted Sara to be safe. The gauntlet had to be neutralized. By God he would die if he could save Sara from Fiona!  
  
Spiteful Fiona turned and pressed the blade to his chest. Whatever power there was in the gauntlet grounded to him. Fiona slid the blade into his heart but he would not allow it back out - not until Sara shot her. When the blade retreated, it took with it his last breath. To die by the Witchblade, would this be his final death? Would he never see her again?  
  
He wanted to say something to Sara. After so many lifetimes there was only one thing to say. "I love you." But the breath was gone from him. Her face faded from his sight.  
  
Sara collapsed by John. Everything she ever loved was taken from her. Her mother, father, Maria, Danny, now Conchobar. There was a great abyss where her heart should be and there weren't enough tears to fill it.  
  
Ian restored the Witchblade to Sara's wrist, then knelt by her, tasted her blood, tasted his own blood, and swore an oath of fealty.  
  
Irons smiled while two million - cash - burned.  
...................................... 


	2. Travel

The evening after the Periculum Sara came home from work to her very quiet and empty apartment. She had found new purpose in her life but there was still sadness.  
  
She was taking stock of what else needed to be done to fix the apartment when Danny showed up.  
  
"Hi Danny, whats'ya got for me? Some dragon slayin' maybe?" Sara made a halfhearted attempt at humor.  
  
"You aren't the only one grieving, Sara. John Patrick has family. They are pretty much in the dark about what went down here. They just got an urn of ashes - no explanation."  
  
Sara sighed. "So what you're saying is that they don't know anything... about what happened, huh?"  
  
Danny waited.  
  
"Let me guess, you're giving me advice in etiquette? To make a courtesy call on the family?"  
  
"It wouldn't be the first time you spoke to a grieving family, Sara. You know something about what they feel."  
  
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, anger, denial, the whole 5 step thing. Dante will just freak when I ask for more time off" Sara said with resignation.  
  
"So Danny..." Sara looked around. Danny was gone. "He comes, he goes - who issued him a revolving door?"  
  
.................  
  
Irons was furious, almost incoherent.  
  
"You are where? She is going where? Ireland?" His voice climbed the scale. Ian was glad he wasn't in the same room.  
  
No, Ian was at the airport, calling from the gate where he waited for a plane, destination Ireland.  
  
When Ian had come by that morning to check on Sara he saw her on the curb. While he watched she hailed a cab - apparently for the airport since she had a travel bag with her. It had been easy to follow her until the question of which airline she was taking. Ian was more surprised when she headed for the international terminal. He had racked his brain for any clue where she intended to go.  
  
He followed her to the counter and tried to lip read the agent's questions. One to Ireland?  
  
Ian thought about his options. He could try to trick the agent into revealing Sara's destination - not likely with heightened security. He could find an airport kiosk with Internet access and try to get into the airline database. Or he could just ask. He choose the last option.  
  
He stepped in front of Sara as she was leaving the ticket agent. She looked at him, not terribly surprised. "I'm going to Ireland to talk to Conchobar's family" she told him. "And I suppose that you will be following. Just stay away from me." She told him the flight number and walked off.  
  
Ian went into an airport shop to buy clothes and a travel bag. Security personnel would be too suspicious of him traveling without anything.  
  
They sat in the waiting area for 2 hours, pretending they didn't know each other. Ian had a seat in first class. That was his way of being sure they wouldn't be seated together. No way Sara could afford first class, but Irons could.  
  
Meanwhile Irons was trying to deal with this new wrinkle. He had planned for a long time to bring Sara into his net. He planned all she had experienced until now. The goal was to 'groom' Sara for the Witchblade; to expose her to it, to get it to accept her, and shape her through it. His plans spread out into the future. Irons didn't like it when she strayed off on some whim of her own. Now as he set up the next trial she should face, she left the country!!!  
  
Irons regained his composure. Every obstacle revealed new opportunities. He would learn more about what motivated Sara. And he would use it. 


	3. Ireland

When they landed in Ulster Sara continued the pretense of not knowing Ian. She knew he would be where ever she went. She checked into a hotel near the airport and settled in to get over jet lag.  
  
After Sara went to her room Ian checked in and went to his. Time to check in with Irons.  
  
"Ian what is she doing? Ireland of all places! Her life is in danger. You know what I mean. " Ian knew exactly what Irons meant. He knew of forces in Ireland that would want to capture the Witchblade, with or without the wielder. "You must never let her out of your sight. You know what to do if she gets killed."  
  
"Yes, her body must be frozen within an hour."  
  
"Right, now that she's passed the Periculum she is too valuable to lose. I don't have 30 years to replace her. A jet is on the way. You may need to bring her back without going through customs. If you can drug her or restrain her somehow the plane will be waiting at the airport. "  
  
--------------------------  
The next morning Sara made a couple of calls and went to breakfast. Ian came in shortly after her. She waved him over. "Sit, join me. I'd rather have you in front of me than breathing down my neck." She handed him a piece of hotel note paper. On it was written:  
  
Itinerary  
Morning - Visit John's grave  
Afternoon - Visit John's mother  
Shop  
Dinner  
Tomorrow  
Shop?  
Sightsee?  
  
"I thought I'd save you some trouble."  
  
Looking at the list Ian stated "It does not say when you are returning".  
  
"I think I'll see just how mad Dante can get before he has a stroke or fires me. While I'm here I might as well see what the motherland is like."  
  
They ate in silence and then Sara stood. "Well, I'm off. I suppose Irons can pick up the tab." She smiled. "Be sure to leave a generous tip." Then she left.  
  
Sara rented a car and drove to the cemetery where John Patrick rested. Ian followed.  
  
It took a while to find the cemetery. When Sara had gotten up that morning she was prepared for this, determined to follow through. Now as she got closer her resolve wasn't standing up to the harsh reality.   
  
Out there in the cemetery was a headstone and a grave. Fresh. Five days ago John was alive and now he was stuck in the ground, gone.   
  
Geez, not another grave to attend, mourn. It hurt, it just hurt. 


	4. John's Mother

After sitting in the car at the cemetery for a couple of hours Sara went looking the home of John Patrick's mother. When she knocked on the door she was greeted by the woman from the picture in John's guitar. She was matronly and in her mid-fifties. She seemed tired, tired of the way fate was treating her family. Her eyes however were particularly sharp, not much got past her.  
  
"Hello, Mrs. Dougherty, I'm Detective Sara Pezzini of the New York Police Department. I came to answer any questions you may have about John Patrick's death."  
  
Mrs. Dougherty looked at Sara curiously. "Come in. Call me Niamh. Would you like a cup of tea?"  
  
"Yes, thank you. Please call me Sara."  
  
Niamh led Sara into the kitchen. There was flour on the table and some dough sitting in a bowl near the stove to rise. "Sorry about the mess." Niamh fussed around the kitchen putting on a kettle of water on to heat.   
  
Then she walked to the table and wrote an address, date, and time in the flour on the table. She waited for Sara to read it before she got a rag from the sink and cleaned the table off.  
  
Sara was still standing - a little shocked. Of course, Niamh's other son, Edward, was involved in the IRA. She was probably practiced at evading surveillance. Sara resolved to have a talk with Danny when she was alone. What had she gotten into?  
  
"Please sit here Sara." Niamh pointed to a chair and poured hot water into a waiting teapot which she brought to the table. She got two cups from the cupboard.  
  
"You knew John," she said when she sat down, statement not question.  
  
"Yes I met him a couple of weeks before he died. He was kidnapped from my apartment while I was at work. I tried to ransom him and it turned into a gunfight. John was killed by one of the kidnappers, who were later identified as counter-terrorists working for the Belfast P.D. I was with him when he died."  
  
Niamh poured the tea as Sara spoke. Now she stated the obvious. "You loved him."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"It gives me some comfort that someone he loved was with him."  
  
"Mighty small comfort."  
  
"John isn't the first son I've lost. A parent prays that all her children will outlive her. Now I only ask that they die in the arms of someone they love."  
  
"Someone he loved? How do you know he loved me?" This conversation was not going as she expected.  
  
"He had been looking for you since he was sixteen. We didn't understand at first but he didn't stop so after a few years we realized that he was on a quest. That's why he went to America."  
  
"What?"  
  
"He chose to sing because he could meet and be seen by far more people than if he stayed at home and worked in a trade."  
  
"What do you mean by 'looking since he was sixteen'?"  
  
"In November of the year that he turned sixteen he went into a coma. Naught could be done. The doctors could find nothing to treat. So we brought him home from hospital and I cared for him like a babe. Then after 11 days he woke up. He was changed, as if he had lived more than one lifetime."  
  
"At first when he tried to talk about his experience he didn't make any sense. He became tremendously frustrated and stopped talking about it. But after a few months he told me he was looking for his fated love. He was much too serious to be talked out of it. He told me but not his brothers or father, God rest his soul."  
  
Niamh continued, "Before the coma he had no interest in music, but afterward he discovered his voice and picked up musical instruments easily. He played in a few bands and then started one of his own. They specialized in taking old airs and making them new."  
  
"So he started to get popular?"  
  
"He achieved a bit of fame but didn't travel as much as he wanted. Not until he was contacted by an agent in New York. We don't know how he came to be known there."  
  
Sara noticed that the Witchblade had responded to Niamh's words, another question for Danny.  
  
"So that's when he went to New York?" Sara asked, sipping tea.  
  
"Yes. He seemed to be doing well there. He was happy because he felt fate had stepped in to bring him closer to you." 


	5. First Blade

"Have you been to the grave?" Niamh asked.

"No, not yet." Sara didn't want to tell her that she spent 2 hours parked in the vicinity of the grave. That probably didn't count.

"Would you care to go with me? If you don't mind driving?" Sara said yes, under the pretext of doing Niamh a favor. Truth was having someone else with her made it seem more bearable.

So Sara and Niamh drove to the cemetery where Sara parked in the same spot as she had that morning. Niamh led the way to the grave.

Niamh knelt at the grave and straightened out the funerary decorations that still remained. Sara wished she had brought a rose. She felt close to this other woman who loved John. She wasn't quite so alone.

In a short time Sara and Niamh returned to the house from the cemetery. As they walked in the front door, Danny appeared and said "Sara, I need to talk to you." Sara gave him an ugly look. "Now?"

Hearing Sara's voice John's mother turned and looked at her. Great! Should she explain Danny? Or pretend he wasn't there? Which she was leaning towards.

"Sara, you don't have to talk to me, just listen. John Patrick wants to talk to his mother, through you. She can't see into this realm like you can."

Sara felt like she had been punched in the stomach. She sat down. John's mother was still watching her. "How?"

"Just relax and sit back in the chair. It'll only take a minute."

Sara was thinking "It's all right if everyone thinks I'm crazy. It should get me some respect on buses; people will give up their seats just to get away from me."

To John's mother she said "Uh, John wants to talk to you." Niamh looked at her strangely; she didn't believe her ears. Sara said "I'm sorry. It sounds bizarre but someone, that only I can see, is telling me to let John talk to you. I know it sounds crazy but this is for real. Just wait a minute." 

Sara sat back and closed her eyes. She tried the meditation technique that they taught in the NYPD stress reduction class. After a couple of minutes of breathing and visualizing a field of flowers, which she personally had never seen, she gave up and opened her eyes.

"I'm sorry, I guess I don't know how to . . ." She looked around. Niamh was gone. The clock said 3:45 - wasn't it 3:00 when they came back?

Niamh came back in the room. She had been crying. She handed a small metal box to Sara, smaller than a cigarette case.

"He asked me to give you this. He didn't say what it is. Only that you should have it. He said he has tried to give it to you each lifetime before but something always prevented it."

Sara was hurt. Why hadn't he talked to her? But, then, why hadn't she asked Danny let her talk to John Patrick? Of course it was because she couldn't bear to talk to him when she couldn't be with him.

All of the sudden Sara needed to be alone. She said good-bye to Niamh, promising that she would see her again before she left Ireland. Then she drove back to the hotel and went to her room, without thinking about Ian; he was probably right behind her. In the room she took a shower and ordered dinner from room service. After the food was delivered she opened the small metal box.

In the box was a sliver of glistening obsidian with a pattern of white and black swirls in the volcanic glass. It was a hand flaked blade, about 2 inches long and half an inch wide at the broadest part. From her Intro to Anthropology class at NYU, Sara recognized it as a blade intended for a small knife or an arrow for hunting large game. She tried the edge with her thumb and it cut her.

________

Sara was in the dark. A darkness so profound that she thought her eyes were gone. She turned and there was nothing. She felt dirt under her feet. She reached out and touched rock. A cave?

Then she saw a spark. A second spark. The third spark briefly illuminated a small bunch of sticks. Then the next spark caught and light bloomed in the form of a very small fire. Sara could see that she was in a cave, and she wasn't alone. A man and a woman knelt on either side of the fire. Both were naked except for a bit of leather loincloth. Both had their hair tied back and bound tightly.

The woman rested her left hand, palm up, on a rock in front of her. The man set a little kit in front of him, from which he took the obsidian blade that Sara had gotten from John Patrick's mother, and a stick of charcoal. Chanting, he took the blade and passed it through the smoke of the fire 3 times. Then he used the blade to tattoo a design on the inside of the woman's wrist.

When he cleaned away the blood and charcoal Sara could see the design. Three concentric circles with a jagged line through them.

He held out the obsidian blade. "This is the First Blade. It is older then Llan An Cailleach. Now they complement each other. What one is the other is not. The tattoo makes a place for the First Blade. The circles represent the inner, the outer, and that which binds them together. The line is your path. The Witchblade passes from wielder to wielder for a purpose." Looking up Sara noticed that the same design was painted on the wall of the cave.

Next the man used the blade to cut through the woman's skin, tracing the jagged line. Pulling the skin apart, he cut a pocket under the design. Finally he laid the obsidian blade in the pocket so it rested flat under the skin.

Sara thought the woman would pass out. She thought she would pass out. But the man brought out a poultice of spider silk and pressed it to the wounded wrist and tied it on with some kind of fibrous grass. It seemed to soothe the woman - young woman. 

Sara looked closer and realized she was looking at a young Cathain.

______________

"Oh, shit!" Sara sat up in bed with a start and grabbed her left wrist. It was unmarked. She still could feel the pain of the tattoo. "This is getting ridiculous! Now what am I in for?"

She lay back and tried to forget the pain. Of course that didn't work so she got up to wash up and dress. It occurred to her to check the time. Only 6:30.


	6. West

At breakfast Nottingham showed up again. He was beginning to get on her nerves. Why did she have to have a damn shadow? She was only putting up with it . . . No, she wasn't just putting up with it. She seriously doubted she could lose him if she tried. At least not in a country that was strange to her. Hence her irritation. Well maybe she couldn't lose him but she could mess with his head.  
  
"So, Nottingham, what should I do today?" She paused as if she were actually asking his advice.  
  
"You may chose to shop. Ireland has some beautiful wool sweaters. Celtic designs are quite pleasing."  
  
"OK, it's settled then. I'll go sightseeing. Which way should I go? North? South? East? West?" Sara though she saw flicker in his eye when she said west. "OK, I'll travel east. Thanks for breakfast!" Sara left, not sure who had played whom.  
  
Sara drove the rental car west. Something pulled at her, drawing her, something familiar.  
  
After a few hours of driving west, with occasional stops at landmarks, she got drowsy. Drowsy enough to fear she would fall asleep behind the wheel. "Must be those multiple time zones catching up with me". Also she didn't often drive for hours facing into the sun. So she looked for a place to pull over. Maybe a 20 minute nap would get her going again. She set the timer on her watch for one hour just in case she didn't wake up and reclined the driver side seat and put her jacket over her shoulders. Just a short nap . . .  
............................  
  
Cathain stood on a stool as Roisin, her maid worked on the hem of the silk brocade dress. Roisin had saved the brown and gold silk years ago, hoping the day would come when she could make something beautiful for Cathain, when Cathain would accept it.  
  
Occasionally Cathain wore a dress, at family affairs. This was the first dress she had ever requested. A dress to wear to the State dinner where Conchobar's new retainers would declare their allegiance. Cathain planned to swear her allegiance in woman's garb to publicly acknowledge that there was one man that Cathain would be a woman for.  
  
A messenger arrived and handed a message to Cathain. As she read it her expression went from casual amusement to an iron mask.  
  
"Leave, Roisin. No, wait, get me out of this dress. Mel , get Fearghus!"  
  
When Fearghus arrived the apartment smelled like burning silk. Just a few remnants of brown and gold brocade remained in the fireplace.  
  
"Fearghus, prepare for an overnight falconry. Everyone will come, everyone. I want to leave in the hour."  
  
"Cathain, we have one who is too ill to ride, Breccan. You're not wanting him, are you?"  
  
"Everyone must come with us, one way or another. Get a cart ready. Roisin can take him to the apothecary in town. From there they can meet with us . . . Here." She pointed to a junction outside of town and west of Ulster.  
  
"And Osan, the bitch that just whelped ?"  
  
"Put her and the pups on the cart too. You've been worrying over her; the apothecary can look at her too"  
  
A few instructions, a brief flurry of activity, and one hour later Cathain and her retinue left Conchobar's keep. To anyone watching they were heading out for an overnight hunting trip. If the watcher looked closely he would notice that all of Cathain's people were going.  
  
The troop rode for two hours and stopped at the junction where they were to meet Roisin with the cart and ailing members of their group.  
  
Now Cathain told Fearghus and Iona, her sister, why they left Ulster.  
  
"He has gone too far. He has done me an injury that can not be tolerated." It was painful to speak, to admit to her kin and leigeman what had driven Cathain from Conchobar's keep. "He is betrothed to Deidre."  
  
"Deidre is but a babe in arms!"   
  
"There has been a prophecy that Deidre will bring down Conchobar's house. He thinks to protect himself by betrothing her." Cathain stood with her arms crossed and her back to Ulster.  
  
Fearghus looked at his feet. He knew the blow to Cathain's pride was an unforgivable breach . Cathain had ever been discrete about her involvement with Conchobar, but everyone in her household knew that the two of them were intimate. It could not be hidden, hadn't been hidden, but it was quiet. Everyone expected that at the end of the wars Cathain and Conchobar would make public vows.  
  
Iona knew, more than Fearghus, just how close Cathain and Conchobar were. A love that would last the ages had been kindled. But Conchobar's lust for power, his arrogance, temper, and blindness to the consequence of his actions allowed him to believe that he could marry one woman for political reasons and keep his true love as a mistress. Maybe another woman would have accepted it, but not Cathain.  
  
"So we are returning home." Iona spoke the obvious. They had left with little more than the clothes on their back. "We don't have enough provisions for the 3 day trip. Are we to stop at the keeps of our friends?"  
  
"No. I don't want to make up excuses or discuss politics with them. We'll get provisions in towns and make camp away from people."  
  
"That seems an ignoble retreat."  
  
"So be it. I have little pride left." Cathain's face was set.  
  
Iona touched her sister's hand and drew her away from the others. They walked for a bit in the sunshine.  
  
"What would you do?" Iona asked.  
  
"I wish to retire from the role I find myself in. I care that our family and lands are well tended. I want peace on the land. But I don't want to be involved in it anymore."  
  
"So what are you planning?"  
  
"Donnchadh and the others have done well at governing while we were away. I will not have children to pass my inheritance to."  
  
Iona looked at Cathain sharply. "How can you say you will have no children?"  
  
"I have decided.' Cathain's words were final. Iona knew there was no hope of discussing it.  
  
"So you are content to settle you rights and duties on Donnchadh?"  
  
"Yes, I will withdraw from the world. I want to be lost from public view."  
  
Iona: "How can you do that? Conchobar can't allow you to break from his alliance - he would lose a good part of what he - you and he - fought to bring together."  
  
"I'm thinking about that. We should have at least a fortnight before he comes knocking on the door to reclaim my allegiance, either by charm or by force."  
  
"So before then I must leave our home. If I were to stay within our walls, he would come with troops and bring destruction. I will be gone so he can't get at me by harming you."  
  
"He won't harm me. I'll be with you" Iona said. "You are my sister. You are more dear to me than anything. "  
  
"You would be unhappy by yourself, away from family".  
  
"I won't be by myself, I'll be with family, you."  
  
The cart came along a couple of hours later. "Good news. The apothecary had something to help both Breccan and the bitch!"  
  
"I am glad something good has come of this day" said Cathain. With their troop complete, they set out to get a few hours closer to Connemara and further away from Conchobar. 


	7. The Ring

Suddenly the scene evaporated. Sara had been so immersed that she had heard bugs and smelled horses. But now it was all gone. She stood in a fog.  
  
"Enough." Cathain spoke.  
  
Cathain stood in front of Sara, a much older Cathain. Her hair was grey and tied in a simple knot. She wore well worn breeches and a shirt. She looked as if she had been cleaning stables or turning compost.  
  
"No more of this . There is naught here but unhappiness. You . . . I . . . Don't have to relive this again over and over into eternity." Cathain sat an a rock that conveniently appeared from the greyness.  
  
"Isn't that what I'm here for?"Sara asked. "To learn some secret?"  
  
"It is not a secret. Would that it were, my pride would have suffered less. You can look it up in any Irish ancient history text. Conchobar and I were lovers. He was an ass. I left him. That's all anyone needs to know."  
  
"I will tell you enough that you will understand what has happened . But I won't detail all the slights, the humiliation. Conchobar has paid for it. It doesn't need to be repeated anymore. This is the story."  
  
"Conchobar and I met when we of a romantic age. There was an attraction between us that seemed more real than life itself. I, who hadn't had any use for being female, became a woman. He was the first and only man that lit that fire in me."  
  
"At the beginning we were young and free of responsibilities so life was good. But as we matured, and took on the roles life had laid out for us - me a lord's daughter and him heir to the throne, things changed. We grew into the people we were going to be. I was skilled in battle arts. He was skilled in leadership. I swore to back him in his fight. We fought long and hard and then came the time to enjoy what we had won."  
  
Sara said, "Yeah, so that's I was just watching. You found out he was going to marry someone else and you wouldn't stick around to play second fiddle. I can understand that".  
  
"Yes, that is basically the story - insulted, diminished. But there's more that you have not seen. And I will not tell you. It shames me that what he did, I submitted to. I did not deserve the abuse, but worse is knowing I am capable of it myself."  
  
"If it's so awful why bring it up?"  
  
"I'm telling you so you will know this: he has paid for it - every lifetime from then till now, he has suffered."  
  
"How?"  
  
"Iona, my sister and I conjured a geas - We were angry enough to pay the price to punish Conchobar. In every one of his lives he remembers - everything. He endures our pain over and again."  
  
Sara finally noticed that Cathain not only was without armor, she did not wear the Witchblade.  
  
"What did you do with the Witchblade? When did you get rid of it.?"  
  
"The Witchblade did not rest easy when I withdrew. So I returned it to the Sidhe. I threw it in a sacred well. I hadn't known how desperate Conchobar would be to get me and it back. I didn't foresee he would sacrifice my dear sister. But by then I no longer had the blade and her death was for nothing."  
  
Cathain looked aside and rubbed her temples.  
  
"The trouble with eternity is that it does get repetitious. By forcing Conchobar to suffer I have been more cruel then he ever was. His sins only lasted one lifetime. . . With each new lifetime he has grown to be a better person. Just as you are me, yet better. Now I will end it. He won't suffer in his next lifetime. You. . . I . . . don't need to suffer this again. Let it be done. Here. Now."  
  
Cathain stood "The geas ends here. The remembering ends here. I forgive Conchobar. May his future lives be free of this burden."  
  
"How will we find each other?" Sara asked.  
  
"You will."  
  
**********************  
  
"What's that noise?" Sara returned to consciousness at the sound of her watch alarm. It took a couple of seconds for her to remember where she was. Taking a nap from driving west of Ulster towards the setting sun.  
  
The nap had just made things worse. She was having serious trouble deciding what to do and she knew that she couldn't drive like that - well, she could if she had to but what the heck! "It's a vacation. I don't know where I'm going anyway so what's the rush?" On the map she located a small town coming up - might as well look for a room and dinner.  
  
At the next town there was a pub clearly marked as offering rooms. With all the Americans looking for their roots, Sara fit right in. Sara registered and took her travel bag to the room. A bathroom break and washing her face helped her to wake up enough to get something to eat so she went back into the tavern for a meal.   
  
There were a few townspeople there and more drifted in as she ate. Everyone seemed friendly but left her to herself. Sara thought about mingling but the fatigue just wouldn't let up. So she returned to the room to make an early night. Soon she was in bed and dropping off.  
  
In the very early morning hours a woman in gym shorts and t-shirt walked out of the inn. Barefoot. Her long hair fanned out in the predawn breeze.  
  
((Now is the time to recover it. Out where she left it, stored it, hid it. The moon is bright. The pebbles sting feet. Not far. The little path behind the inn to the brook. Down the brook about 40 paces. One, two, the third chair sized rock. The east side. In the hollow below the water line.))  
  
((It's not there.))  
  
((Where is it? Maybe the Witchblade can locate it. Concentrate. A feeling, a tug. Down this lane, up to this cottage. Yes, it is here.))  
  
The woman in gym shorts pounded on the door. "I want my ring!"  
  
The woman that came to the door was not alarmed at this apparition. She went inside and returned with a box of rings.  
  
((It wasn't there.))  
  
"Give me the ring!"  
  
The woman brought her a pretty ring with small red stones. It smelled of some fairy power. But it was not the ring.   
  
"For the last time, by Llan An Cailleach, give me my ring!"  
  
The woman said "Ay, you are her." She went into the house for a third time and returned with a simple band of copper.   
  
((This is it.))  
  
The young woman in shorts returned to the inn.  
  
In the morning Sara woke up to find her feet sore and dirty. And a ring on her hand. It was very simple and copper colored. She turned it around in her hands and looked inside to see if there was a mark there. When she looked through the ring she saw John.   
  
Sara gasped and dropped the ring, then picked it up and peeked through it again. Again she saw John. He was smiling back at her.  
___  
  
After cleaning up and dressing Sara went to the dining room for breakfast. There were a few people there, couples and one group. Only one woman sat alone and she came over to Sara's table.   
  
"May I join you?" The woman looked about 30 and was dressed in a suit. She looked like she worked in an office.  
  
Sara was curious and willing to be friendly. "Yes, please. I'm Sara Pezzini."  
  
"Cashel Kirby . I'm the one that gave you the ring. Do you remember?"  
  
"No. I woke up with it on. I must have been sleepwalking."  
  
"Oh, she wasn't asleep. She's very much with you."  
  
"So do you know why she wanted this ring?"  
  
"No. My great-grandmother found it. I don't know where. We were told you would come for it."  
  
"How did you know I was the one to give it to?"  
  
"You demanded it. There wasn't any doubt. Are you unsure?"  
  
"No, it's mine." No way was Sara going to give up anything that showed her John. "Who's this 'she'?"  
  
"Cathain." 


	8. Vision Quest

"I owe you a debt, Cashel. This ring means a lot to me, even though I don't understand what it is about. I'll ask one more favor - can you tell me how to find Connemara?"  
  
"Connemara. Yes, you're right. You won't find that one in the guide book. Here, I'll write you directions." Cashel took out a business card and wrote on the back of it. The front of the card read "Cashel Kirby, Antiquities" and had a phone number.  
  
Sara offered her own business card. "Like I said, I owe a debt to you and yours. Let me know if I can do anything for you."  
  
-----------  
  
Ian found Sara at the top of the ruins of Connemara, as far up as she could climb. She was looking out at the view over the remains of a parapet. The sun was warm through the light haze. It was afternoon.  
  
"Ian, come here," she said without turning. He stepped up behind and to her right side. "Give me your hand. Without the glove." He extended his bare right hand.  
  
Sara touched him and saw:  
  
Ian on the phone saying "The arrangements are made. He has been hired by a club in New York."  
Ian in a room saying "I will tell you were you can find the brother of Edward Dougherty."  
  
Sara couldn't breathe. Her mind grabbled with the clues the Witchblade had shown her. John was lured to New York. John was betrayed by Ian.   
  
She gripped Ian's hand again with another question. Why? Now she saw Irons as he planned this cruelty. "She must face the Periculum to finish the change. A sudden unexpected death can trigger it. Her father is dead. Her best friend is dead. Her partner is dead. It is time to locate the one man sure to win her heart. The heir of Conchobar."  
  
She backhanded Ian across the face with the Glove. Then stuck again, and again. Ian did not defend himself.  
  
"Tell me! **strike** . How can I make you suffer! **strike** the pain! **strike** you have dealt to me? Who can I take from you! **strike** that is more important! **strike** than life itself? What would cause you! **strike** a wound that will not heal?"  
  
"Shut up, Danny!" She didn't want to hear from the wraith trying to be her conscience.  
  
But she stopped. Ian crouched on the stones, protecting his head with his arms, otherwise unmoving. Blood plastered his dark curls to his face. She took in a deep, shaky breath.  
  
"The answer is nothing. Nothing!" Sara spat. She turned to leave but first spoke over her shoulder.  
  
"I don't want to see you for three days. I don't want to see you. I don't want to hear you. I don't want to smell you."  
  
She was gone.  
  
He stayed in place for several long moments before he could believe she wasn't coming back to finish his life. Then he thought about cleaning his wounds. If he could walk. He made his way outside and down the slope to a ditch where he cleaned his hands and face in a trickle of water. Despite the ferocity of her attack no bones were broken.  
  
The rest of the wounds would not show. Including the wound that would not heal - the knowledge that he had been the instrument of Sara's lover's death.  
  
-----------  
  
Ian drove off in his rental car. Sara waited until he was gone, then went to her car and retrieved her coat and a couple of bottles of water that she had purchased at a convenience store. She went back into the ruins and looked for a spot to nest in. She found what appeared to be the ruins of a small chapel, where two walls formed a corner to block the wind. She wasn't going anywhere for a while.  
  
After a couple of hours Danny paid her a visit. "What are you up to, Pez?"  
  
"I'm going to stay here until I figure things out."  
  
"Oh. How long is that?"  
  
"I've got 3 days before Nottingham gets the nerve to face me again. Maybe I'll know what to do by then."  
  
"So, you're staying here with 2 bottles of water and a box of chips for 3 days?"  
  
"Yeah, it's a vision quest thing. You know, suffering, hallucinating. Just another day with the Witchblade!"  
  
Sara turned away from Danny and hunkered down. It was not a time to talk.  
  
Through the night Sara thought about her past. Where she was at different times. Who she hung out with. What her goals had been. She wondered if there was a point to it. What was moving her from school to job, from family to friends to lovers to her last love.   
  
Last love. Was that the epithet for John Patrick? Was that her fate? What was she doing it all for? Why did it matter? How did it matter? The stars were bright but they didn't have anything to say. She felt trapped in her own mind.  
  
Dominique Boucher had said that everything was connected. Everything in her life was being orchestrated by the Witchblade. Starting when? Did that mean the Witchblade was responsible for John's death? Were Irons and Nottingham tools of the Witchblade? Or was Irons in control, herding the Witchblade to his own ends? Just how much of Sara's life was scripted by or for the Witchblade?  
  
After dawn, Danny was back. "So you're serious about this vision quest thing."  
  
Sara looked at him but said nothing. He left. 


	9. Visit

Sara was deep asleep in the second night when she was attacked. Men, many men, seized her, tied her wrists behind her and yanked her to her feet before she could react. It was dark - torches were the only light. They brought her to face - Ian! Bastard! He was going to regret not staying away!  
  
But then it dawned on her that this Ian had skin coarsened by weather, nasty scars, and his clothes were strange. She realized that everyone around her was dressed from some time in the past. Some time when clothes were shaggy and everyone smelled.  
  
"Who are you?" Ian-lookalike asked. He wasn't speaking English but Sara understood. Someone in the group exclaimed "She is Cathain! Or a witch?"  
  
Ian-lookalike came closer to peer into her face. She took the opportunity to rear back to head butt the guy behind holding her arms and knee Ian-lookalike in the groin. But several men piled on her again and she couldn't break away.  
  
Ian-lookalike slowly straightened up. He hissed to someone near him "Get Cathain".  
  
Cathain arrived with more people. It was crowded in the little chapel, which had walls now, without the grass Sara had bedded in. Cathain's approach set off a hum in Sara's bracelet. She could see an answering glow from Cathain's wrist.  
  
"Welcome, Sara. What brings you to my hold?"   
  
"Actually, I came to the ruins of your hold in my time. I don't know how I came through to your time."  
  
"Ruins? When? But don't answer, that matters not here. I do not want to know the future."  
  
As they talked, the people around them mumbled. Sara gathered that while she and Cathain could understand each other, courtesy of the Witchblade - no one else could understand Sara. Cathain noticed too.  
  
"All of you, leave! Except for Iona, Conchobar, and Donnchadh." As the room cleared out Sara could see Conchobar. Her eyes threatened to leak; she wanted to touch him. But this was another time; he was another's love.  
  
Now there was just Cathain, Conchobar, and apparently the pretty blond was Iona, and the Ian-lookalike was Donnchadh. He still stared at her distrustfully.  
  
Cathain removed the ropes around Sara's wrists. "We must get you back to your own time. There is too much happening here. We don't need your presence to unsettle budding alliances"  
  
"OK by me, but I don't know how I got here, let alone how to go back" Sara rubbed her wrists and wiped her bruised cheek where she had gotten much too intimate with the stone floor.  
  
"I think you can return through the grey space. Donnchadh, I'll be back in a moment. Keep people away for a short time." Then Cathain put her hand on Sara's arm and turned her to face the same direction. They took a step forward and were surrounded by fog - the 'grey space'.  
  
Cathain said "Since you have come here without intention, I would guess that the Witchblade brought you to talk to me. Can you tell me what occupies your mind?"  
  
Sara thought about asking the meaning of life or was that Conchobar as good as her Conchobar but she decided to be serious. "In my time my fate and the Witchblade are being manipulated by a powerful man. He wants something from me and the Witchblade but I don't know what. So what's bugging me is - Is all the suffering and death around me happening just to get him off? Is there a point to all this?"  
  
Cathain asked "How old is this powerful man?"  
  
"50 , 60, I guess"  
  
"How old is the Witchblade?"  
  
"Maybe two thousand years or so."  
  
"Sara, you can trust that the Witchblade will achieve it's purpose - or guide you to do so. This powerful man is deluded if he thinks he controls it."  
  
"Ah, OK, I guess that's a better way to look at it. . . But I have another question."  
  
"Yes"  
  
"Who is Donnchadh?"  
  
"He is my half-brother and most trusted leigeman. I don't think he'll forget you, Sara." Cathain smiled. "But I must get back. These are delicate times. Perhaps we will talk again."  
  
"Yeah, we have already." Sara was thinking of her meeting with the older Cathain, "but how do I get back to my time?"  
  
"Touch the Witchblade and tell it you want to leave the grey space."  
  
"Oh. Wait! Show me your left arm."  
  
Cathain turned up her left arm so Sara could see her inside wrist. There was the tattoo - 3 concentric circles with a ridged scar, the jagged line, running through them. 


	10. Rocks

"Do you have the First Blade, Sara?" Cathain asked.  
  
"Ah, a pointy piece of glass with black and white curlicues? Yes, I have it - and I saw what you went through to carry it. What does it do?"  
  
"It is a branch of the Tree of Life. I don't know how it will serve you."  
  
"John, my Conchobar, gave it to me. That is he managed to tell his mother to give it to me though he's dead."  
  
"John has served you well. You have the ring, too. That is good. The Three ages of Man are reunited - the Ages of Stone, Bronze, and Iron. You must keep them safe - and the safest place for the First Blade is to carry it."  
  
Sara winced at the memory of the sympathetic pain she felt just watching the ceremony. "So who can install it? Druids?"  
  
"The First Blade is from a time earlier than the Druids. You must find a shaman."  
  
"And where would I find one of those laying around?"  
  
"Ask. Farewell Sara."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The next morning Sara was antsy. She went for a walk and found a gravel pit. Throwing rocks sounded like a good idea. So that is what she was doing when Danny appeared.  
  
"Hey, Sara."  
  
"Hi, Danny." Sara continued to pelt the opposite wall of the pit with stones.  
  
Danny sat on a boulder and watched for a while.  
  
"OK, Danny, what are you here for?"  
  
"Just dropped in in case you needed someone to talk to."  
  
"Gee, why would I need someone to talk to?"  
  
"Because you're not a good listener?"  
  
"I'm a great listener!"  
  
"In your dreams."  
  
"Some vision quest. I'm being harassed by a ghost!"  
  
Sara picked up another handful of rocks.  
  
"Danny, you're a great friend. Would you tell me the truth if I ask you a question?"  
  
"Try to."  
  
"Hum, OK, Ian arranged to get John into New York and then captured, Irons was the one that ordered it, and me - I go in with guns blazing and no backup. Which one of us is responsible for John's death?" She threw another rock.  
  
"Maybe you're asking the wrong question."  
  
"Are you going to make me guess or can you just tell me?" Another rock.  
  
"What are you after here? Who to punish? Or whether you should feel guilty?"  
  
"Yes, and yes. If I can blame Ian or Irons then maybe I don't have to feel bad about screwing up."  
  
"But . . . ?" Danny interjected.  
  
"Damn it, Danny! I got you killed and I got John killed! All because I don't plan, I just barge in!"  
  
"You did what you thought you had to do."  
  
"That's no excuse for incredibly bad judgement! It's bad police work and it's really hard on my social life!"  
  
"Maybe John and I were going to die anyway."  
  
"Oh, yeah, that helps. Every time I screw up I'll just say that it was meant to be! - I'm still the one that got you killed!"  
  
Sara sat down and put her head in her hands. "I really screwed up and I lost two of the people I care most about. It seems like the Witchblade just gives me the power to screw up in even more spectacular ways. It gets me in some crazy situation and then I'm the one that jumps without a parachute. If this thing is going to work I've got to get smarter. Otherwise I'm a menace to everyone involved." 


	11. Ambassadors

The morning of the third day Sara went for a walk in the fields surrounding Connemara. She saw someone out of the corner of her eye and turned, saying "Hey, Danny, what's up?" but it wasn't Danny. It was a young woman that looked a lot like Sara but dressed in an outfit that refused to stay one color.  
  
"Who are you?" croaked Sara, crossing her arms. She hadn't spoken in a while and she was rationing the water.  
  
"I'm your granddaughter." The young woman replied.  
  
"What? How? I'm not having kids!"  
  
"I'm not supposed to tell you how - it's complicated anyway. I just wanted to tell you that I will be a wielder too. Because of you, I will exist. They want you to know about me because I'm finding peaceful ways to use the Witchblade. You probably won't believe this but your children will raise ambassadors." She smiled.  
  
"You're right. I don't believe you." Children, plural, she would have kids?  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
By the afternoon Sara was ready for a shower, a meal and a real bed. She gathered up the things she had brought - coat, water bottles, Kleenex, and headed for the car.  
  
Unfortunately there was a problem with the car. A dead guy was draped over the hood. This was sure going to mess up her plans for a shower. She pulled out the cell phone she had rented with the car and called the emergency number that came with it.  
  
  
Ian was waiting at the intersection of the spur road that went to Connemara. He had been there for 3 days, waiting for Sara to leave her isolation. When he saw two cop cars and an ambulance turn into the access road he made fast work of getting within visual range of what was happening. He saw Sara talking to the Irish policemen and EMT's were looking at someone laid out on Sara's rental car. He decided that if Sara needed anything it was probably a lawyer - were they called barristers?  
  
He went back to his car to get out of the way of the investigators and waited to follow them when they took her in. While he waited he called Irons.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
At the police station, it was deja vu all over again, but this time Sara was on the other side of the badge. Since she had called in the crime and waited for the police to come they didn't really consider her a suspect.   
  
However she was a foreigner, claiming to be a member of a foreign police force, so they went by the book and kept her overnight to check her credentials.  
  
"We will be checking with your superior in New York" one of the policemen said.  
  
Sara couldn't help predicting "Better stand back from the phone, he's going to come unglued. On the other hand he'll probably laugh his head off."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
In the morning, after a very basic breakfast, someone came to tell Sara she was being released. This detective introduced himself as Constable Mel Seanain. He said the arrangements for her release were made by Irons. Sara wasn't surprised.   
  
As Constable Seanain walked her toward the front office he told her the conditions of the release. She was to stay in the country until cleared to leave. And she would keep them informed of her whereabouts.   
  
Sara noticed a familiar figure up ahead at the end of the hallway. Nottingham. At the same time Constable Seanain was telling her the third condition of her release. She was to be watched over - by Nottingham!  
  
Sara laughed. "This is too rich." She turned back to Constable Seanain, who had just noticed the fading bruises on Nottingham's face . . . and the scrapes on Sara's face. Seanain pulled her into a side office.  
  
"Is Nottingham a threat to you? We can delay your release until you arrange for someone else to be with you."  
  
Sara was amused at his concern. "That's OK, I'm as much a threat to Nottingham as he is to me." The irony of the situation was pretty damned funny. Seanain looked confounded.  
  
In the front office Sara signed release papers and received her suitcase and an envelope of personal items. She tore it open and took out her wallet, the little metal box, Cathain's ring, and the Witchblade. Just as she took out the bracelet Constable Mel Seanain touched it and said "That is quite a unique bracelet you h . . ."   
  
The moment he touched it Sara saw an elderly man talking to Seanain. He was saying "We are the guardians of Llan An Cailleach. That is our family responsibility. The Witch's Glove has been lost for centuries now but we must be ready to resume this duty when it is found. It will return."  
  
Constable Seanain said quietly "I feel privileged to be here when Llan An Cailleach is returned to these shores."  
  
"Well, it's only here for a visit. Then it's going back to New York!" Sara snapped. Someone else had a claim on the Witchblade?  
  
Seanain spoke again for Sara's ears only. "Now that police business is finished, I'd like to invite you to my home for supper, a simple supper. If you are open to talking about the Witch's Glove?"  
  
"I'm being watched over by Nottingham - he'd have to come too."  
  
"How much does he know about the Glove?" Seanain asked.   
  
"More than I do!" said Sara.  
  
Ian had his rental car and drove her to the hotel he had picked. She registered, finding out that Ian had already reserved a room in her name, next to his. "Figures, won't let me out of his sight." Sara felt a little amused and cornered.  
  
She said to Ian "Well, Nottingham, you've ruined my reputation in this town."  
  
"When I made the reservation, Sara, I made it clear that I am your bodyguard, which is true enough." Ian was inscrutable as ever.  
  
Not only was her room next to Ian's room, the two rooms had connecting doors. In a fit of perverseness she opened the door on her side and knocked on the other door, which sprang open - it was unlatched. Ian was sitting in a chair, still in coat and gloves, looking like he expected her.  
  
"Hey, I need to work out. Got any idea where to go?"  
  
"Yes, there is a gym near here. I will drive you."  
  
"OK. Great. Meet you at the car." Sara went back in her room and closed and locked the connecting door. She grabbed clothes and shoes and went to the car.  
  
At the gym Sara faced the quandary of what to do with the Witchblade. Gone were the days when she thought nothing of leaving it in a locker. She hesitated to ask Ian if he would hold it because she wasn't sure she'd get it back, but he promised. "Sara, I will return it to you today, when you leave the gym." She trusted his word and didn't see a way for him to reinterpret those words to keep the Witchblade so she handed it over to Ian. 


	12. Dinner

After the workout, muscles stretched, tension released, and Witchblade back on her wrist, Sara felt like she could get some sleep. Three days of sleeping on the ground and one in a jail cell had not been restful. So when they got back to the hotel, Sara told Ian she was going to nap and asked him to give her a wake-up call for dinner.  
  
That evening they took Ian's rental car to Constable Seanain's home; Sara's was impounded as evidence. On the way they picked up a bottle of wine.  
  
Constable Seanain's home was a small row house in the outskirts of town. It looked just like what Sara expected from watching programs on PBS.  
  
Seanain answered the door. "Welcome, Sara" and he spoke to Ian "I haven't really been introduced to you, Mr. Nottingham. I am Constable Mel Seanain of the Irish Police. My family is charged with acting as guardian of Llan An Cailleach, the Witch's Glove." He stuck out his hand.  
  
Ian took his hand and said "I am Ian Nottingham, personal bodyguard to Kenneth Irons and guardian of the Wielder."   
  
They both stood there, eye to eye, toe to toe, clinched in a "handshake" until Sara said "OK, while you two arm wrestle I'm going to open the wine."  
  
During supper Seanain asked where Llan An Cailleach had been since Cathain. "We know it went to Joan of Arc, but after that we weren't able to follow it. We suspected it went to the Vatican."  
  
Sara gave him the short version. "Yeah, it was stored at the Vatican until it was traded to Hitler. The next wielder stole it from Hitler and used it on the side of the Allies. She was an Allied spy. Somehow," Sara looked pointedly at Ian "somehow Kenneth Irons came into possession of it when she died. It stayed in his private collection until I ran into it, literally, a few months back."  
  
"How do you train to use it?"  
  
"Almost everything I know about the Witch's Glove I've learned from it and the previous wielders. Irons promises to provide me with information but I don't want to pay the price he asks - on my back. Whatever Ian knows - he's not talking. So I look elsewhere." Sara again looked at Ian and he kept his eyes to the floor.  
  
"You have spoken to former wielders of the Witch's Glove?"  
  
"Yes, I've talked to Cathain, Joan of Arc, and Elizabeth Bronte, the Allied spy."   
  
"So what are your plans for Llan An Cailleach?"   
  
"You mean what are it's plans for me! I'll keep on doing police work. The Witchblade will help or hinder as it sees fit!"  
  
Seanain told Sara "We have some information about the John Doe you found on your car. His name is Mark Murray. He is a recent graduate of the Delphi Technical Institute and just started working for Westwind Software, Inc., a subsidiary of Vorschlag Industries."  
  
Sara turned to Ian and reached for his hand but Ian snatched it back. "Sara! I have no knowledge of Vorschlag's involvement in this company. Nor do I have any knowledge pertaining to the death of Mark Murray. I swear it by the Witchblade!" Seanain found this byplay interesting.  
  
After dinner they moved into the sitting room to drink coffee and Irish whiskey. Sara asked "You probably have lots of interesting contacts, as most of us in police work do. Would you happen to know any shamen?" Ian looked puzzled but Seanain did not. He acted as if this was an ordinary question.  
  
Seanain said "Yes" and went to the phone. He dialed a number and was soon talking to someone. "Bob? I've met someone that would like to talk to you. Yes, it's her. Yes, she does. You'll have to ask her. Tomorrow? Fine. I'll get you the hotel. Sara, what hotel are you staying at?"  
  
Off the phone, he said to Sara "Lasar will contact you tomorrow at your hotel."  
  
"Didn't you call him 'Bob' on the phone?"  
  
"Yes, that's a nickname he's picked up. I think you'll like him."  
  
Very soon Seanain and Ian discovered they had a common interest in archaic weapons. Seanain pulled out books on the subject. First they talked about the number of Gaelic words for arrows and the different types. Then they started comparing the relative merits of assorted maces. That was when Sara decided she would call it a night so she asked Seanain to call her a cab. Ian jumped up to take her back but she made it clear that he was welcome to stay. She left when the cab came.  
  
Seanain and Ian continued talking about weapons but after a couple of hours, and liberal applications of whiskey, the subject changed. Seanain asked Ian. "Has she been blooded?"   
  
Ian didn't hesitate to answer. It didn't matter whether Seanain was speaking of Sara or the Witchblade. Both had faced battle, together.  
  
"Yes, I would not speak of her experience but she is very private, you will not hear it from her. She can take care of herself."  
  
"So why are you guarding her?"  
  
"Even the Wielder of the Witchblade needs someone to cover her back, when she will allow it. In what way do you guard the Witchblade?"  
  
"The interests of the Witchblade and the Wielder are not always the same." He seemed to be implying that he would take the Witchblade from the wielder if he thought it necessary.  
  
Ian responded "And your family is charged with deciding that? How do you decide who is worthy?"  
  
"That is our challenge. It has been many centuries since we've had to make that choice. Our family takes credit for uniting Cathain and the Witchblade."  
  
"So do you judge Sara to be worthy?" Ian's eyes went narrow as he watched Seanain for signs of intent to interfere. This was the question Ian had been waiting all evening to ask and why he didn't leave with Sara. He needed to know if Seanain was a threat. He was prepared to deal with him if he was.  
  
"The match feels right." Ian relaxed but knew he would have to always watch Seanain's actions in case the answer changed.  
  
Seanain challenged Ian. "If you guard the wielder but work for Irons don't you have a conflict of interest? You are trained as a bodyguard and I can tell your employer has paid for the finest training . . . but you do not train Sara? Sounds like you're not being as helpful as you could. If you withhold what you know, if you are not friend then . . . are you not foe?"  
  
Ian blushed. Seanain had put his finger on the heart of the matter. Ian would have to choose which master he served. He could no longer serve both.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Sara had welcomed the cab to take her back to the hotel. She was going straight to bed, then get up in the morning. She was going to get in sync with Irish daylight. Tomorrow was going to be an strictly ordinary day.  
  
In the cab Sara felt a tingle from the Witchblade, saw a swirl of color. The evening had been tense enough to warrant some reaction from the blade. So she wasn't concerned when the cab stopped at the hotel and she handed money up to the cabbie. Not until he suddenly stabbed her hand with a hypodermic.  
  
"Oh, shit!" She was out in about 3 seconds. Just long enough to kick herself for being so dense. 


	13. Interogation

She heard footsteps approach. Hands grabbed under her armpits and pulled her up into a chair. Whoever it was stayed behind her, out of view. When she tried to look around, he jerked her hair. "Keep your eyes forward!"  
  
"You are Detective Pezzini of the New York Police Department. Tell me what you're doing here."   
  
"Actually, I don't know what I'm doing - here!" Sara spat.   
  
"In Ireland! You know what I mean. Get on with it."  
  
Sara took a breath. "I came to answer any questions that the family of John Patrick Dougherty might have about his death."  
  
"And you didn't come because of Llan An Cailleach?"  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
A hand grabbed her wrist bearing the Witchblade. "This! Don't waste time lying about it!"  
  
Sara said "This bracelet goes where I go. It's not why I came to Ireland." To herself she added - not directly. Everything is connected.  
  
The inquisitor walked around into her view. "So what do you have to tell the family of John Patrick Dougherty?" Sara recognized him from the photograph she found in John's guitar case. Edward. The brother that was wanted for terrorist activity. The one that the counter terrorists wanted to use John to get to. The one they planned on killing.  
  
"I saw John after he was captured and later when he was murdered. I was there. So I can answer your questions."  
  
Edward looked at her for a moment. "So you know me? Tell me, why were you there?"  
  
Actually what did she want to say anyway? "I screwed you brother and then got him killed" didn't seem polite. Sara was beginning to think this was the hardest thing she had ever done. Usually when she answered the questions of a murder victim's family she was detached, not emotionally involved.  
  
"I. . . tried to rescue John, by ransom or by violence. I failed."  
  
"Who were they?"  
  
"I thought you would know. They kidnapped John to lure you into a trap. They were going to kill both of you."  
  
"I can guess who they were. What of John's killer?"  
  
"I killed her."  
  
Edward nodded. "Did any of them survive?"  
  
"Only the two of us that attempted the rescue."  
  
Edward opened up a little. "All we got back were the ashes. We couldn't see what harm they did to him. Did they torture him? How long did he suffer?"  
  
"It looked like they beat him up some. They shot out his kneecap. It's my fault. They wanted to make sure I took them serious. It was about 10 hours from the time he was kidnapped till he died."   
  
Sara was fighting to hold onto her dignity - "don't start blubbering now" she told herself.  
  
"And then they shot him?"  
  
"No," Sara edited the truth. She still avoided mentioning the Witchblade. "Fiona had a knife that she got from me. She used it to stab John through the heart. His hands were tied."  
  
Sara was really beginning to doubt that it was a good idea to tell Edward the details. There were already enough grievances to keep Ireland split.  
  
Edward looked at her with sympathetic eyes. She had been through a lot and he knew what it felt like. He recognized that they were comrades in pain.  
  
"I truly do appreciate your coming to tell me of John Patrick. It is hard on the family not knowing what happened. We can imagine all kinds of atrocities."  
  
"So why did you drag me here?" Sara asked. "I was looking to talk to you."  
  
"We had an appointment and you missed it." Edward answered.   
  
Sara remembered the time and place information Mrs. Dougherty had written in the flour. "Sorry about that. That was the day I spent in jail because a dead guy turned up on my car."  
  
"Yes, that left us looking for another way to contact you, without your bodyguard. When you took the taxi we grabbed the opportunity - and you."  
  
"Next time skip the needle and drugs, willya?" Sara said wryly. "Can you untie me now?"  
  
Edward smiled and for an instant he resembled John. "Sorry, but I don't trust you to let me walk away. Which I will do in the next few minutes because I know your rescuers are getting near."  
  
Edward came closer, "Before I go I'll tell you I know what that bracelet is. I know who you are."  
  
"What do you know?"  
  
"John told me who he was looking for. Cathain."  
  
"Your mother said that he didn't tell you."  
  
"Back in my drinking days I got him pretty well plastered once and dug it out of him. I had to know why he suddenly turned against me after his coma. But I didn't tell anyone. Bloody likely I'm going to go around saying my crazy younger brother is looking for Cathain, the war goddess!"  
  
"Then you know who he is . . . was."  
  
"Conchobar, same as his stage name. I'm sorry that I misjudged him. In more ways then one! Perhaps he could have been the statesman that made a difference in this bloody mess. And I'm sorry I didn't know his time would be so short. He was Mother's favorite, though she won't admit it. She thought he would be safe when he stopped following in my footsteps. He was going live a peaceful life abroad looking for you. I expected to be gone long before him. "  
  
  
"In return for telling me about my brother, I will warn you that you're not safe anywhere in Ireland, now that it's known that you have Llan An Cailleach. It would be a great prize for any group to further their cause. And they won't hesitate to kill you to get it."  
  
Sara replied "Yeah. It seems like everyone I meet knows what it is. Here's a warning back at ya. Nottingham is looking for me by now. You don't want to be here when he finds this place."  
  
"Your bodyguard? You are very sure of his capabilities."  
  
"Right. He's the other survivor of my attempt to rescue John." 


	14. eBay

Sara had worked through the restraints when Ian arrived about 20 minutes after Edward left.   
  
"They're gone" she told him.   
  
Ian still took time to assure himself it was true. "Who were they and what did they want?"   
  
"Actually it was John Patrick 's brother. He wanted information about John's death."  
  
Ian didn't say anything. He didn't know and wouldn't ask if Sara had told Edward anything about his part in the tragedy. Sara knew he was doing the stoic bit - take it as it comes. Actually she didn't know why she had not told Edward how Ian was involved. She didn't know if it was mixed loyalties or a determination to exact her own judgment.  
  
Constable Seanain had also arrived with a couple of police cars. He asked Sara to relate the whole story which meant going back to the police station. After the debriefing Sara changed the subject.  
  
"Edward gave me some information on the death of Mark Murray, the guy I found dead on my car." Constable Seanain was interested. "His older brother works at a computer think tank that is developing encryption algorithms for the government. Murray stole key information for breaking the codes from his brother and put them up for bid to antigovernment groups. He sold it on eBay - with a vague description that interested parties would recognize. Trouble is he didn't just sell it to the highest bidder - he was selling copies to all the high bidders. The top bidder didn't appreciate having to share what they paid so much for. So they stopped him."  
  
Constable Seanain said "That sounds plausible. We'll check it out. But I don't trust information volunteered by a kidnapper."  
  
"Oh, he doesn't know he told me. He touched the Witchblade." Sara smiled.  
  
"Did you get what group did it?"  
  
"No, I didn't catch anything else I could make sense of. But I know someone that can help us."  
  
~~~~~~~  
Sara called Gabe. "Hi, Gabe. Greetings from sunny Ireland. No, I don't know what time it is there; never could calculate time zones. I have an internet question for you. There was an auction on eBay selling secret Irish government encryption codes. Yeah, the UK section of eBay. Can you find out who placed the winning bid? OK. Here's the phone number here."  
  
When Gabe returned the call, Seanain put the call on the speaker phone.  
  
Gabe said "Yep, I found an auction that looks suspiciously like technology theft. The high bidder was belladonna@millionairesclub.com. That's an exclusive email address that means the winner proved he, she, or whoever had more a million in liquid funds. It shows they've got the money to back their bid. Know any Irish terrorist group that is named after a night blooming flower?"  
  
Constable Seanain was taking notes.  
  
"That's not all. While I was at it I checked for auctions containing 'Witchblade.' Lots of hits for the comic book. Yeah, Pez, there's a comic book, some artsy-fartsy deal where this mostly naked chick is always battling her arch nemesis. My friend Sly did some work on it. Those auctions looked legit. However . . ."  
  
Sara didn't know whether to get angry or blush.  
  
"Then I tried 'Cailleach' and I found 2 auctions for L.A. Cailleach - one with and one without the 'action figure'. That's you, Pez. The bidding on those has gone higher than the encryption code did."  
  
"Who's the seller?"  
  
"I'm working on it."  
  
"When does the bidding close?"  
  
"Day after tomorrow."  
  
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::  
  
A/N: Gabe's comments about the TopCow comicbook 'Witchblade' do not reflect the opinion of the author. They are merely meant to reflect Gabe's irreverent attitude. Couldn't resist putting it in and besides that the TV show alludes to it.  
  
Sorry about lack of posts for last few days. Real life has sent my muse into hiding and chocolate has not been sufficient to lure her/him out yet. 


	15. Troll

Ian asked Constable Seanain "Is there a room where Sara and I can talk . . . preferably soundproof?"  
  
In an empty interrogation room, Ian told Sara "The pretense of being your bodyguard stops here and the reality starts. We are going to leave Ireland. You will stay in my sight at all times. No exceptions."  
  
"What about using the bathroom?" Sara crossed her arms.  
  
Ian glared at her from under his eyebrows. "You can close the door to the bathroom if I check it out first! We will leave now. I have Iron's jet at the airport...."  
  
"No."  
  
"What!" Ian became menacing. "You have no reason to stay here. You have talked to almost all who remain of Conchobar's family!"  
  
Sara wasn't going to budge. "There is something I have to do. I have to find that shaman. There is a ritual . . ."  
  
That stopped Ian. He knew about rituals. He had trained in many forms, in many cultures. Scars hidden by his clothes itched in memory.  
  
"May I approach?" asked Ian as he took off a glove.   
  
"Yes." Sara thought with exasperation, *What is it going to take to get this guy out of the Middle Ages?* But he was right to ask permission, she still didn't trust him.  
  
Ian stepped within arm's reach and offered his bare hand. Sara touched it, expecting to see some past event. Instead in her mind she was looking at a black aluminum briefcase. It had a handle and a blue stone pulsing where the lock should be. Otherwise it was smooth without a trace of any seam. Sara looked at Ian, puzzled.  
  
"I was raised to serve Irons but I was bred to protect you, Sara." Ian's eyes were earnest. "I have just given you everything I know about your past. It will not open until you can deal with it. This is not the time to tell you but you must have it in case . . . you survive without me." Ian's face had moved into whipped puppy mode.   
  
Sara almost had the urge to hug him. Almost. What did this mean?  
  
"Why are you helping me?" Sara asked.  
  
Just then Seanain stuck his head in the door.  
  
"Sara, Lasar is here. Do you want to talk to him now? He came here when he found out you checked out of the hotel."  
  
Sara said yes to Seanain and asked Ian "Checked out?"   
  
"When I found you missing last night I checked us out and brought your things here, with the intention of us leaving as soon as I found you."  
  
"Us?" Sara was beginning to feel like a parrot. "What *is* going on?"  
  
"I am turning traitor to the only family I know, Sara."  
  
Just then a stranger entered the room. An odd duck indeed. He was middle-aged and short with wild hair. Sara thought he looked like a gypsy, no, Italian, no, a Scandinavian troll. Yes, troll seemed to fit him best.  
  
"Hello, Sara, I am Lasar. It's wonderful to see you all grown up." He had an accent as odd as his appearance. He took her right hand and kissed it, below the Witchblade, and it seemed perfectly natural when he did it. If Irons had kissed her hand she'd be rubbing it on her jeans now.  
  
The other odd thing about him was that she didn't get any visions when he touched her hand. Just a sense of calm.  
  
"What did you wish to see me about?" he asked. Immediately the symbol of three concentric circles with a jagged line popped into Sara's head. And Lasar nodded. "You have it then." The First Blade he meant. "I see you also have the ring. Are you ready to wear the First Blade?"  
  
Sara did a slow nod, apparently they were on the same wavelength. 


	16. Preparation

Lasar, Sara, Seanain, and Ian discussed the logistics that the First Blade ceremony required. 'Where' was at Connemara, 'when' was anytime after Sara had fasted for 24 hours. Lasar had the paraphernalia required and Sara had the Blade.  
  
Sara hadn't eaten since the dinner at Seanain's the night before so the 24 hour requirement would be met soon. "Coffee doesn't count as food, does it?" Sara hoped.  
  
Another requirement was that Sara had to avoid sexual contact 7 days before and 3 days after.   
  
"No problem" was all she said.  
  
They all knew that whoever was trying to sell Sara and the Witchblade on the Internet had to be near. Close enough to keep an eye on her and gather her up soon. They had to be prepared for some kind of ambush. How many others were also tracking her was unknown.  
  
Seanain told them "I cannot be a part of this as an Irish policeman. I don't have authority to provide an escort. So I must be off duty in civilian clothes. We can take my personal car."  
  
It was after dark when arrangements had been made and they headed out.  
  
As they drove up the access road to Connemara they saw a figure standing in the middle of the road with his arms raised. He stood in the headlights' glare until they pulled up to him.  
  
Sara recognized him. "That's Edward, John's brother!" Ian jumped out to confront him. Before Sara could get there Ian had seized Edward by the collar and was about to punch him in the face.   
  
"No! Geez, Ian, find out what he's here for *before* you punch his lights out!"  
  
"Why are you here, Edward?" Ian asked.  
  
"I know what you need to do and I brought a few lads to do sentry duty while you are here."  
  
"What do you know? I thought you only talked to John about his past lives that one time." Sara questioned.  
  
"Yes, it was only once, but we were there for hours. Quite a history lesson, too bad it was wasted on me. I did learn what he held for you and what is required for you to use it."  
  
"And you're here to help out of the goodness of your heart? I don't buy that." Sara said.  
  
"Let's say I owe you; let's say I was touched by the story Johnny told me years ago; let's say I'm tired of things the way they are. I know you can read my heart. Here." Edward held out a fist, cautiously, with Ian still holding him.  
  
Sara was getting wary of touching people; she realized she would have to start wearing gloves. But they needed the help and they had to be sure Edward was legit, so she reached out to touch his hand.  
  
((Dark, darkness cut with violent flashes of light. Terror so old it had hardened into a rock like amber. Brutality that rivaled anything she had seen as a NYPD cop. Then off to the side . . . in a small protected place, hope hid, and it had John's smile.))  
  
"He's good" she said. "He can help."  
  
"Sara!" Ian exclaimed. His whole argument was in that one word. How could Sara trust this terrorist?  
  
"Come on, Ian. Trust my judgement or don't. Are you in or are you out?"  
  
"In" Ian said with ill humor, releasing Edward from his grasp.  
  
"Edward, this is Ian Nottingham. He's the other survivor of the attempt to rescue John." Edward nodded to Ian.  
  
Edward went to instruct his men and Ian went along to see that their placement suited him. Sara and Seanain followed Lasar who had a backpack and a tire iron. Without hesitation he headed to the ruins of the little chapel where Sara had spent 3 days. He indicated a pavement stone that needed to be pulled up. The three of them, along with the tire iron, fought with the stone until Ian came back to help. Finally they got the stone up.   
  
Under the stone was a narrow opening that Lasar dropped through into a small chamber about 5 feet high. He called out instructions. "Sara, hand me the back pack and then jump down. Ian take that water bottle and fill it at the little stream near here and bring it back to me. Seanain, stay up there with Ian."  
  
"How long will you be down there?" asked Ian.  
  
"About 3 hours" was the answer. Lasar took two flashlights out of his backpack and handed one to Sara. The little chamber was actually the entrance to a tight, narrow, natural tunnel leading downward. Stairs were cut into the rock where the grade was steep. When Ian brought back the water bottle Sara and Lasar started into the tunnel, Lasar leading the way. 


	17. Cavern

Disclaimer: TopCow owns the Witchblade. The rituals and social practices represented in this story are purely imaginary. The cavern does exist (without the cave paintings) - Kartchner Caverns in Arizona.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Down, down, down, into a blackness heavy with time. Little puffs of dust rose from their footsteps in the still air. Sara fancied she could see footprints from visitors in times past. Sometimes the tunnel opened wider, sometimes it was nearly too narrow to pass through.  
  
Quiet, it was so quiet. The Witchblade had started to hum to itself. It seemed to be singing greetings.   
  
Finally the tunnel opened up into a large open void - a cavern. The cavern was so large that the flashlights couldn't illuminate the far walls or the ceiling. Incredible blocks of stone lay on the floor of the cavern.   
  
The blocks looked like they had just fallen yesterday, the edges were unweathered. But stalactites and stalagmites had grown to meet each other from the ceiling to the blocks. Tens of thousands of years had passed since that ceiling fell. Bones of some long ago lost critter were frozen in a limestone waterfall.  
  
Sara had never before felt claustrophobic but she could understand it now. It was bizarre how such a large open space could feel so confining.  
  
Lasar led her out into the cavern for aways. Here she could see cave paintings - horses, bison, antelope were recognizable. Mankind *had* been here just yesterday - in geologic time.  
  
Finally they came to an area where a small campfire was near a 2 foot round rock. The rock had dark stains on its surface. On a nearby boulder was the First Blade symbol - 3 concentric circles with the jagged line. 


	18. Choices

Disclaimer: TopCow owns the Witchblade. The rituals and social practices represented in this story are purely imaginary. The cavern does exist (without the cave paintings) - Kartchner Caverns in Arizona.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Ian surveyed the nighttime battlefield from his hiding place. The attackers had arrived in darkness. Apparently they weren't all of the same group because they fought among themselves even as they approached the ruins. It had been 2 hours since Lasar and Sara descended into the earth. Ian hoped they would be back soon so they could break out of this trap. The ruined keep was not a place he would wait out a siege if he had a choice.  
  
His mind ticked along as he watched combatants and predicted their movements. Nothing out of the ordinary here but he just didn't get much practice at this sort of engagement. If he were to stop and think about it he would realize he was enjoying this, flexing strategic muscles as well as physical. His battle fugue was tempered by the need to remember what he was protecting.  
  
Edward Dougherty's men seemed dependable and competent. For a second Ian felt like he was back with the Black Dragons. The thought passed quickly - he would never fight beside the Black Dragons again. That door was closed, the bridge burnt.  
  
He had stationed himself as close to the hole that marked the entrance to the tunnel as he could. His assignment was to hold off anyone that would stumble across it if they got closer. At least for now the attackers didn't know about it - didn't know that their quarry was underground.  
  
A figure walked out of the shadows toward the hole. Ian quickly fired off a few rounds to stop or discourage this new threat. But there was no reaction. The figure acted as if none of the bullets had hit even though Ian was sure of his aim. Whoever this was was a phantom. Phantom? The stranger wore an overcoat and his hair was black, lank, and long. Ian recognized him - Danny.  
  
It occurred to Ian to worry about Sara - seeing Danny was not a good sign. Danny looked at him and motioned, beckoning for Ian to come to the hole. Then Danny jumped in.  
  
Ian grabbed Seanain who was near by. "Cover me. I have to go below. Don't let anyone approach the tunnel." Seanain nodded his understanding as he kept his eyes on the action.  
  
Ian crawled to the hole and slid in - staying as low as possible in hopes that he wouldn't draw attention to where he was going. Danny was in the little chamber. He motioned towards the tunnel. It seemed obvious he was signaling Ian to go down - Ian took that to mean he was needed below. He had a tiny penlight - one of the things he carried as standard equipment. Using that he set out to descend into the tunnel.  
  
~~~~~~~~~  
  
Sara knelt across the small fire from Lasar. He had made the fire with kindling he bought along in his backpack. He told her to remove her coat and shirt, leaving her in a t-shirt. The cavern was cool and she shivered. The little fire was only big enough to give off some light but not warmth.  
  
Lasar asked her to give him the First Blade. She took the little metal box out of her coat pocket and handed it to him. He set it on the ground in front of him. From his backpack he brought the bottle of water, and a leather roll which opened up to reveal a raven feather, a goose feather, and some charcoal.  
  
"This water comes from the spring that rises here at Connemara. It is thrice-blessed, in shamanistic times, in druidic times, and in Christian times. Drink." Sara took a mouthful of water and gave the bottle back. Then Lasar motioned for Sara to set her left arm on the stained rock and poured some of the water on her wrist. He gave her the raven feather to hold in her right hand, the wild goose feather in her left. Then he crushed the charcoal into a powder and sprinkled it on her wrist. Sara gulped.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Ian came into the cavern where he could see the faint glow of the fire and made his way towards it. When he got there he saw Sara sitting on her heels and Lasar sitting cross-legged. Sara's face was pale. Her left wrist was perched on a rock and blood and charcoal ran off her wrist onto the rock. Sara seemed to be in a trance.  
  
Lasar called out to Ian "Come, sit beside Sara." He indicated the spot to Sara's right.   
  
"Ian, Sara is not now aware of your presence. The link between Sara and Irons is severed. Now you must choose. Do you continue your bondage to Irons or do you fulfill your destiny as Sara's Guardian."  
  
"If you stay with Irons you can continue to accept his orders without question. You need not take responsibility for your actions. The moral stain is on Irons. If you choose to align with Sara you must learn to make your own moral judgements. Sara will not accept unquestioning obedience. She will judge you by your decisions and deeds."  
  
"Whichever choice you make will not be known to her until you reveal it. However, once made the decision cannot be undone. This question must be answered now. How do you choose?"  
  
"Sara."  
  
"Very well. Sara, give me the Witchblade." Sara held out her right arm and Lasar removed the Witchblade from her wrist. The red stone sparkled while he held it. "Ian, hold out your right arm." Ian did so and Lasar placed the Witchblade on Ian's wrist.   
  
Ian's stomach tied up in a knot. He held his breath as he waited for the Witchblade to exact it's revenge for being put on a man's wrist.   
  
Would the price of guarding Sara be his right hand?  
  
The gauntlet unfolded and the sword extended. Ian was given the privilege of feeling the living Witchblade in action, if not by his will. He felt the power that was the Witchblade. He tasted it.  
  
Then the gauntlet began to warm. It got hot and hotter. The pain was unbearable. He sucked in air to scream. At that instant the gauntlet retracted and the bracelet fell from his wrist. His scream turned into a groan and he clutched his right wrist with his left hand. On the back of his right hand was a brand - three interlinked circles forming a triangle.  
  
Sara felt pain on her chest - in the area of the 2 interlocked circles. Compared to the pain in her left arm it was nothing. Lasar returned the Witchblade to her right arm.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Irons writhed on the floor. He hit the medic alert to get Dr. Immo to his side nearly instantly. What the Doctor found was Irons clutching his right hand. An angry red welt - a jagged line - cut across the two interlocking circles there.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Seanain felt pain sear his right hand. He dropped his gun but found he could still use the hand so he picked the gun up again. Must have been grazed by a bullet, he thought.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~ 


	19. Weapon

Sara awoke to find herself carried by Ian, - no - Donnchadh, - no - another Ian-lookalike! His face changed continuously, scars, beard, face paint came and went. Sara struggled to get out of his grasp. Donnchadh said "Be still, my Lady". Ian hissed "Stop it!"   
  
"Who are you? Which are you?" Asked Sara.  
  
"I am who I always am." Ian answered.  
  
Sara stopped struggling. She realized he was carrying her up an endless flight of stairs. Lasar went ahead with the light - the light which switched between being various torches and the battery powered kind. Lasar's appearance did not change but his clothes did ceaselessly - breeches, robes, fur, skins, a feather cape.  
  
Ahead of Lasar ran a fox, - or - an Irish wolfhound, - or - a raven flew.  
  
At the top of the tunnel, in the antechamber, they heard bullets flying overhead. The gunfire intensified. Sara, Lasar, and Ian were pinned underground. Ian set Sara on her feet, shaky but awake, and started to plan, "I'll go up and draw the gun fire away. You both can come up a . . ."  
  
"No" Sara said. "No, boast me up." Ian could not see her face in the dark but her voice stopped him from arguing. He made a step by interlocking his hands and boasted her through the hole. She popped up like a jack-in-the-box.  
  
Sara stood in the open with both arms in the air. The swollen left arm turned outward displaying the bloody tattoo and the right turned inward, displaying the Witchblade, fully extended. There was a bubble of faint light around her from which the bullets bounced.  
  
"Hold! . . . What do you want of me?" The answer was more bullets so she demanded again. "What do you want of me! What would you ask of Cathain!" Her form shifted to another in battlegear, then back again.  
  
"Peace!" Someone called out. "Victory!" Shouted another. "Wrongs righted!" Came from a third.  
  
"Behold, I am a weapon! . . . I cannot give you peace! . . . I buy victory at great cost! . . . I cannot change the past!" she answered.  
  
"Only you can give yourselves peace! Only you can earn victory! Only you can make right what has been wrong!"  
  
"Let it be known that *THIS* weapon will not fit to your hand for your purpose!"  
  
"Be gone!" She said while simultaneously snapping her wrists together causing a blinding flash. 


	20. Geese and Ravens

While Seanain's eyes recovered from the light there were no sounds of gunfire. He only knew where he was by the grip he had on the stone wall he had taken shelter behind. When he could see he dropped down to crawl to where he had last seen Sara. As he got close he saw another figure leaning over Sara's prone body and he jumped up to attack the assailant but when he got within arms reach he recognized Lasar.  
  
He pulled Lasar to the ground. "What are you doing? You're a target here!"  
  
Lasar replied "They are all gone - every one of the attackers is gone - as she commanded. Though I don't know where they've gone to."  
  
They stood up and turned to look after Sara. "How is she?" Seanain asked.  
  
Lasar shrugged. "She seems to be simply exhausted. I think she'll be fine in a few days, but until then we need to hide her somewhere."  
  
As they discussed Sara, Edward joined them. "I can take her to a safe house where my mother can take care of her."  
  
Seanain squashed that idea. "You have fought along side us and I am grateful, but I'm not trusting your motives here. We just fought off this rabble to keep her from becoming someone's weapon. You still qualify as suspect to me."  
  
Edward shrugged. "As you will, my mother can still take care of her. I know she would want to. I'll send Mother to you and you can take her where Sara is."  
  
As they gathered together to leave someone finally asked "Where's Ian?" They spread out to search but found no sign of him.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Sara woke up to find herself in bed in a strange room. Nearby John's mother, Niamh, was reading a newspaper, or had been reading. Her head had fallen to her chest and she appeared to be asleep. Sara stretched and started to think.   
  
Her first thought was of the Witchblade. She was relieved to see it was still on her wrist. Then she looked at her other wrist expecting . . .  
  
There was a bandage on her left wrist that she tore away. She expected to see an inflamed and ugly wound surrounded by a raw tattoo, but it wasn't like that. The jagged rune was now a clean scar. And the tattoo wasn't there.  
  
Sara pressed on the rune expecting to feel the obsidian blade under her skin but she couldn't feel it's hard shape. Before she could doubt her sanity - was it all a dream? - she saw the shadow of the tattoo emerge from what looked like unblemished skin. The tattoo only showed when she touched it.  
  
When she traced the shape of the tattoo she was returned to the making of it, back in the cavern.  
  
Lasar first explained the feathers he had given her to hold.  
  
"The feather in your right hand is of the raven. The raven is strong, clever, and tenacious, loud and confident, companion of the goddesses Badbh and Morrigan. The raven returns inland in the coldest month to presage warming weather. Ravens harass larger sea eagles to steal their food. The raven uses tools. It represents rebirth and healing. When the gods stole the sun and hid it in a box Raven found the box and returned the sun to the land of man."  
  
"The feather in your left hand is a wild goose. Wild geese follow the seasons as they migrate ceaselessly. Geese herald the winter when they leave and spring with they return to the north. Geese raise wild children who will repeat the journey and always return to the same place, a circle over time. Wild geese are faithful to their family. The wild geese of Ireland, her sons and daughters, have flown around the globe. Someday they will return."  
  
As Lasar tattooed her left wrist he explained that symbology to her.   
  
"The innermost circle of the 3 concentric rings faces inward toward the true self. The outmost circle is the face that the outside world sees. The middle circle is the communicator, translating thought into deed, and physical experience into inner thought. It is the spiritual self that binds the whole together. The 3 rings also represent the 3 elements of air, sea, and land."  
  
"The jagged line is the rune for Sowilo - the sun, the female aspect of the sun that warms cold lands, it is a symbol of life, fertility, and healing. The sun dies each night and is reborn every morning, another unending cycle. It also represents personal power, strength of will and conscious thought. It provides the strength and illumination to change. The First Blade and the Witchblade pass from wielder to wielder, the path changes but continues."  
  
"Wait a minute. All of this stuff is important I suppose but I'm not going to remember half of it." Sara was exasperated.  
  
Lasar paused to tell her "You will. Touch the tattoo with your other hand."  
  
Sara did so and instantly relived the words that went with that section of tattoo. "Huh, so this is a memory device?"  
  
"Right, the tattoo is an initiation and instruction. It records but also guides and shapes your thoughts."  
  
"You mean it's messing with my head?"  
  
"When you took algebra in school did it mess with your head? You are being exposed to new thought patterns. It's up to you to decide whether to be influenced by them."  
  
"Algebra did mess with my head." Sara retorted.  
  
Next Lasar took up the obsidian blade. He poured a drop of water on each side of it and passed it through the smoke of the fire three times. He chanted for a minute - something Sara didn't recognize and the Witchblade did not interpret. Then he sliced her skin following the tattoo of the rune, laid a skin flap open, and placed the blade under the skin. Finally he put a gauze pad over her wrist and wrapped it tightly.  
  
The pain was like molten lead poured on her arm. It took over her whole being. She couldn't avoid it, ignore it. The only way to deal with it was to embrace it, feel it totally without reservation. The only way to end the pain was to be consumed by it.  
  
From a distance she could hear Lasar as he continued her instruction.   
  
"As for the Witchblade, the large red stone is the male aspect of the sun - violent and deadly. The smaller blue stone is the moon. It influences the sun in subtle ways that can not be measured. "  
  
"The power of the Witchblade is male violence, suns in nova, train wrecks. It is raw, inevitable power."  
  
"The power of the First Blade is female violence; the goddess Kali, born of pain, bearing pain, inflicting pain, chooses which of her children will die."  
  
"Just as the three concentric rings require the middle one to hold them together, the Witchblade and the First Blade are linked by this." Lasar took the copper ring from Sara's finger. He held it in front of her so she could look through it. She saw John smiling at her once again.   
  
"The task of this ring is to link the right and the left, the day and the night, the light and the dark, the male and the female aspects. The meaning and use of this ring are for you to discover."  
  
Now things got strange.  
  
Sara noticed that Lasar was sitting on a rug, a tapestry of many colors with no apparent pattern. The colors ranged from burgundy to lavender, from aquamarine to seafoam green, from Prussian blue to sky blue. Some threads looked like wool, some silk, some cotton. There was a clear, jagged crystal woven into the rug. All the threads that ran near it turned white. Lasar pulled the rug up and showed it to Sara.   
  
"This is woven of the spirits of all the wielders. You can not see a pattern because it is only a fragment of a larger pattern. This is your thread." He pointed out a crimson thread that looked like linen. "You are part of the whole."   
  
He threw the rug in the air and Sara's thread stretched out before her. She followed it until she found herself in a bright white room with black and white chessboard tiles on the floor. On the floor was the briefcase that Ian had passed to her mind - black aluminum with no seams and pulsing blue lock.   
  
A toy pistol lay next to the briefcase.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
A/N The canadian geese returned to Anchorage, Alaska, 5 days ago. 


	21. Memories

Sara reached out and touched the toy pistol.   
  
She saw Irons. He towered over her, enthroned in a large chair. She looked down. She was holding the pistol and dressed in a kid's cowboy outfit. She felt a hat on her head.   
  
Irons said "Listen closely, young Nottingham. It is written that no man has ever successfully worn the Witchblade. That only the chosen woman can wear it."  
  
"And though I tried, for all my force of will, I could not keep it on my hand. The gauntlet burned me and seared my flesh until I had to rip it from my wrist. But even my brief exposure was enough to bind me to it forever. To make me a part of it. To allow me to see some of what it sees, but not all. That is my blessing and my curse. I understand the way it thinks. I know what it wants."  
  
In a young male voice Sara asked "And what does it want?"  
  
Irons answered "It wants something that cannot be explained in words. To know what it wants, one must directly experience the Witchblade."  
  
Sara asked "When will I learn to fight?"  
  
"Soon enough. Soon enough. In order to control the Witchblade, I must control the woman who wields it. And this woman must be tested, must be made to run a grueling gauntlet, and in so doing learn to use the Witchblade."  
  
...  
  
"Congratulations, Mr. Irons. She is a fine healthy baby girl and an exact clone of Ms. Bronte."  
  
Sara saw a newborn baby wearing pink hat and booties. Sara was about eye level with the incubator. Along with her and Irons, off to the side stood two men, Dr. Immo, and a handsome man with one blue, one black eye - Dr. DeAngelo.  
  
"Is she the one?" Sara asked in the child's voice.   
  
"Yes, she is the destined Wielder."  
  
"Is she my sister?"  
  
"You both share Elizabeth's genetic material but she is not your sister in the strictest sense of the word."  
  
"She is the one I protect?"  
  
"Yes, when you complete your training. And now the time has finally come for you to go abroad to learn your vocation. To explore your special gifts."  
  
.....  
  
Sara saw a coldly angry Irons. "She was stolen from the home I placed her in! It's Lasar, I know it! He thinks he can interfere with her upbringing. Find her!"  
  
.....  
  
Next she saw a calmer Irons. "We know where she is, in the home of a police sergeant. How ironic. No need to retrieve her. I can arrange -events- to shape her there as easily as anywhere."  
  
.....  
  
She saw a wax statue of Elizabeth Bronte, but the statue's skin was too real for wax.   
  
She said in Ian's voice "You controlled Elizabeth Bronte".  
  
She heard Irons' answer "I -killed- Elizabeth Bronte!"  
  
.....  
  
Sara experienced death in a war games accident. Then returned to consciousness in Irons' white clinic. The awakening was followed by questions - ritual questions and answers to prove he was returned.  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
"Ian Nottingham"  
  
"What is your mission?"  
  
"To protect the Wielder of the Witchblade." 


	22. Home

This time when Sara awoke, Niamh, John's mother, was looking at her. "So you're awake, are you?"  
  
"Yes, where's Ian?" Sara sat up in the bed. She wanted to confirm that the memories she had just witnessed did indeed belong to Ian.  
  
"That's what we were waiting to ask you. Ian has been missing since you sent the rogues away, three days ago." Niamh hadn't met Ian but the fact he was missing was thoroughly discussed while waiting for Sara to wake up.  
  
"Home. I sent them all home. Not very imaginative but more humane than dropping them in the middle of the ocean."   
  
"Well, then perhaps Ian is home?"  
  
"Yeah, it's worth a try. Where's a phone?" She got out of bed, noticing that she was wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt - not her clothes.  
  
Sara called Irons; she assumed that was where Ian felt his home was. "Hey, Irons, has Ian shown up there? Like 3 days ago?"  
  
"No, Sara. Why? Have you misplaced him?"  
  
"Eh, sort of. We were attacked by a bunch of thugs then. By the time we got rid of them, Ian was missing."  
  
"Well, Sara, you must try harder to keep track of your employees."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Something else happened 3 days ago that severed my link with the Witchblade, and broke my connection with you and Ian. I am no longer privy to the inner circle, so to speak. Ian is bound to the Witchblade. He is your responsibility now."  
  
"Irons, don't mess with me! What do you know about Ian's whereabouts."  
  
"There, you asked a question I can answer. However, Sara, we cannot discuss this on the phone. You must come to me."  
  
"I'm not flying back to New York to beg you for crumbs of information. I don't have time for it!"  
  
"I'm not in New York. I'm in Belfast. I have offices here."   
  
Sara got the address. "I have to arrange transportation. I'll see you when I get there."  
  
After making the phone call Sara returned to the bedroom she had woken up in. She needed to spend some time thinking about the images that came with the toy pistol.   
  
"Niamh , can I be alone for a while? Don't worry, I -will- be talking to myself."  
  
Yes, Niamh remembered the last time Sara talked to herself. She left the room and closed the door.  
  
"Danny! Damn it all! I need to talk to you! Someone . . ." Sara slid down a wall to the floor and covered her face. She didn't know she could feel any worse than when John died. Now she knew her whole existence was just a product of Irons' machinations. She didn't know who the hell she was.  
  
After a couple of minutes of quiet someone poked his head in the door. "Do you want . . . "  
  
"Get out!" Sara growled; she felt bad about being rude.  
  
Her mind was busy making connections. "So I'm a clone? I was born in a damn laboratory?"  
  
"No" Danny had arrived. "Karen Bronte's mother was your surrogate mother. You were born of woman. You did know a mother's touch."   
  
"Then I'm Karen Bronte's sister, except I'm a clone of Elizabeth so I'm Karen's grandmother. And if Ian is the son of Elizabeth and Irons, then I'm his mother . . . 'genetically' speaking." Sara was getting slightly hysterical.   
  
"Kinda gives a whole new meaning to Oedipus complex, doesn't it?" 


	23. Family

Sara didn't stay in her room long. It was only polite to talk to the people that had taken care of her. Besides she had to deal this new problem - new to her - of Ian's disappearance.  
  
In the main room Niamh was waiting along with Constable Seanain. He had just come in after getting off work.  
  
"Niamh, Seanain, I really appreciate what you've done for me. I am in your debt."  
  
Seanain answered "Think nothing of it. It's been fun."  
  
Niamh answered " There is something you can do for me but we'll talk about it later. Right now supper is ready."  
  
During supper Seanain filled Sara in on the very little they knew about Ian's disappearance. Since then nobody had heard of someone like Ian showing up someplace or being held by someone. It looked like Irons' information was the only information to be had. To get what Irons had, Sara had to go to Belfast. They discussed the options for Sara - rent a car, take a bus, but then Seanain mentioned he had a motorcycle she could borrow. Without a second's hesitation Sara took him up on the offer. Quickly they settled the plan for Sara to ride to Belfast in the morning. It was the best thing she had heard in a long time.  
  
After supper Niamh asked Sara to walk with her. They walked in the long evening twilight that northern latitudes enjoy. At first they talked of small things - chitchat - until they came to a quiet spot where they couldn't be overheard.   
  
Niamh took Sara's hand and said "I do believe that if John had lived he would have married you." Sara blushed. "And I do believe that you would have had children by him." Now Sara was really embarrassed. Sara looked down to the ground and Niamh moved to be in her line of sight.  
  
"So this is the boon I ask of you, Sara. If you do find another love, and do have children, would you allow me to be a grandmother to them?"  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Sara welcomed being on a motorcycle again. It wasn't her Buell but ...  
She let the feeling of gliding effortlessly through country lanes lift her out of her anxieties. Flying, she was flying. Nothing could touch her as long as she didn't come back down to land.   
  
Her problems wouldn't disappear that easily but they moved further away. She could get some perspective on things.  
  
"Flesh and blood". She had relatives! When her father died she got used to the idea that there was no family left to grieve for her when she was gone. No one to take the family albums and past them onto future generations. No future kids to say "Who is that? Why is she dressed funny?"  
  
Now she had relatives! Karen Bronte and whoever remained of her family. And Ian! Related to Ian? What kind of sick joke was that. Now she couldn't dismiss him as a nutcase that she met on the job. He was family! She had a family complete with black sheep. She didn't whether to laugh or be insulted. That thought was mellowed by the realization that the Ian she was looking for was not the only one. Apparently Irons had a store of replicates to pull from when one died. That was really sick!  
  
This was going to take some getting used to.  
  
Along with the fact that her existence was entirely based on Irons' whim to create a clone of Elizabeth Bronte. She could guess why he wanted a clone and the bits of information that came with the toy pistol seemed to confirm it. Irons wanted a wielder and the surest way to get one was to duplicate a wielder. But what did he want her for? She could bet that the answer wasn't simple. If Dominique Bouchet didn't fill the bill that showed that just being able to use the Witchblade was not enough to meet Irons' needs.  
  
And he killed Elizabeth Bronte! Nothing could justify that! Sara was sure that John and Elizabeth were not the only victims of Irons' schemes. What was she going to do about Irons? She knew he was too rich to stand trial. She couldn't deal out the death sentence on him. What kind of revenge was she capable of?  
  
So here she was going back to Irons in order to find Ian. When did she start to care about what happened to Ian? Even before she knew he was related she had begun to think of him as a comrade, with possibilities of friendship. How did that happen?  
  
Unfortunately it was hard to talk to Danny on the motorcycle. She laughed, imagining him traveling along beside her, suspended in mid air. But she didn't say anything out loud for fear he would manage to do just that. She would pile up for sure if she had to watch him stand beside her with the scenery whipping through him.  
  
..........  
It was early afternoon when Sara got to Belfast and found the address of Irons' offices, opulent of course, in the financial district.  
  
"Yes, I have heard about Ian's disappearance. Someone has contacted me. I didn't tell them that I am no longer responsible for Ian. I just accepted the information to give to you."  
  
"You're a cold-hearted bastard, Irons."  
  
"I could be induced to act on Ian's behalf in exchange for something I . . . need."  
  
"What could you possibly need from me?"  
  
Irons countered with a question of his own. "How did you sever my link to the Witchblade?"  
  
"I don't know - I didn't you had a link. At the time I was being initiated to the First Blade. At the same time we were attacked by someone who wanted to auction off me and the Witchblade on the internet. "  
  
Irons took Sara's hands in his own, as if they were close relatives, but with that familiarity he turned Sara's hands over so he could see her wrists. There was the ridged scar of a jagged line and the tattoo of 3 concentric circles, normally invisible, darkened at his touch. Irons dropped Sara's hands and walked around to sit behind the desk.  
  
"The First Blade is a legend that I never took seriously. It was seldom associated with the Witchblade."  
  
"Yeah, well, I've got it, and listen to this Irons. If there is any justice in the world it's this."  
  
Sara leaned across Irons' desk and said in a menacing tone. "You. You! lured Conchobar to New York and then threw him to the goons that killed him. Ian did the dirty work but it was your game! Well guess what, if I hadn't met John, and hadn't come to Ireland, I never would have acquired the First Blade, and never would have learned some very interesting things that I'm sure you don't want me to know."  
  
"So what can you tell me about Ian's disappearance?" Sara goaded him.  
  
Irons said "Ian is in the possession of Neit, an Irish war god."  
  
"Come on Irons, that's ridiculous . . ."  
  
"Sara, you channel Cathain. How can you scoff at the existence of Neit. He was called by a terrorist group that wanted his help. Of course he has taken over the group for his own purposes."  
  
Irons picked up a 'thank you' card and read "'Have captured your Knight. Looking forward to taking your Queen. Neit.' Polite chap." Irons dropped the card.  
  
"What does he want with Ian?"  
  
"Ian is a . . . genetically enhanced warrior. Neit will inhabit his body and raise an army after Ian's model."  
  
"What does he want me for?"  
  
"Besides the Witchblade? As I said, you embody Cathain. Neit wants a mate that equals him in strength and potential."  
  
"I think I can say for sure that Cathain is no more interested in that than I am." Sara scoffed.  
  
"Cathain and Neit; you and Ian? It would be an unbeatable alliance. I wish that I had thought of it." Irons leaned back and steepled his fingers in thought.  
  
.........................................  
  
A/N. Sorry to ask but now I know why other authors beg and plead for reviews. I really want to know what you like and don't like. Please?   
  
On another note I might have to leave my iBook at a repair shop and might not be able to post over the weekend. (OK I could but don't want to use the old computer.) 


	24. Lorcan

Cathain entered the room where Conchobar held council. The three standing around the table turned to her and she felt the barrier immediately. Their faces were cold and distant, united in shutting her out. They seemed to look down on her even though she was at their height.  
  
It was done. Now it was obvious that a new alliance had formed and she was not in it. Conchobar would not hear her argument. Ever since the dreadful, nearly fatal, blow to his skull he had treated her differently - like a woman instead of an ally, and taken council with people she disapproved of.  
  
She still hoped time would heal him and return him to his former self but she had to push that hope aside to deal with the present.  
  
Lorcan spoke first, always diplomatic, if not sincere, "Welcome, Lady Cathain, we have much to discuss with you."  
  
*I am sure you do* she thought.  
  
Neit beckoned her to the table. They outlined the plan they had already made in detail, giving her instructions on how she was to use her troops. It was the plan she expected and the one she feared.   
  
As they talked Lorcan constantly leaned in towards her. Not enough to offend to but enough to make her uncomfortable.  
  
When they finished the meeting Cathain asked Lorcan to wait while Neit and Conchobar left the room. Turning to him she said "Pressure me again and I will have your head on a pike, and your partners will have to find someone else for their threesome."   
  
She spoke quietly but at the same time the Witchblade sprang into the gauntlet and the blade extended several inches. Lorcan looked at the blade and her eyes and nodded.  
  
........  
  
Sara shook off a feeling of stiffness and looked around. Where did Irons go? She was talking to him and . . . She noticed that it was evening outside. What happened to the afternoon? Maybe *she* had a brain injury - the way time kept slipping away from her.  
  
She heard the soft sound of doors opening and turned to see Irons enter, along with . . . Ian! Her jaw dropped. Ian was here!  
  
Irons saw the expression on her face and said with amusement. "Sara meet Nottingham. Nottingham this is Lady Sara." Ian bowed slightly.   
  
Sara tried to get her jaw closed. Now she could see that this Ian was not the Ian that been tailing her for the last few months. But the difference was very subtle, besides grooming preferences. This Ian was clean shaven except for a small goatee. His eyes glittered with amusement - or was it something else more sinister? Sara felt uneasy with the man himself, outside her horror at seeing someone she knew duplicated.  
  
"You have no conscience whatsoever, do you?" Sara sniped at Irons. "But should I call you Lorcan?"  
  
This comment didn't dampen Irons' amusement. "A conscience is not useful in business, Sara. Yes, I was Lorcan. You do progress. Were you speaking to Cathain? You must learn to control your visions. They make you vulnerable."  
  
"I saw you and Neit and the two of you were allies." 


	25. Neit

He glided through the nighttime darkness which was bright as day with a full moon. Around trees, through bogs, he paused to drink in the smells, a symphony for the nose. Delicious. As delicious as that rabbit was going to be. A light breeze teased his coat, reminding him to stay downwind in this dance of death. If he wasn't so hungry he would just lope for miles, for the pure joy of it. He promised himself many more outings like this, otherwise what was mortal life for? Yes, he could think of some other things to enjoy, all in good time.  
  
There, he spied the twitch that gave the rabbit away. And was on it.  
In an instant he snapped it's neck; he hadn't lost his touch. Should he eat it now or take it back to have rabbit stew with the pack? Naw. He doubted they would savor it as he would so he tore into it there.  
  
After eating he was still energetic so he jumped up and tore a branch from a tree. He whipped it around and worried it like a foe. Then he settled down to gnaw on it.  
  
He was relaxed now and thought of something else he wanted to do. Time to return to the lair. When he came to his clothes he released the wolf shape to return to his host's original form. What a magnificent body! He wondered how Irons could stand to be around it without inhabiting it himself. To think, now science could grow an endless supply of this form, or any other he took a fancy to.  
  
When the brigand, who called him from the other side, had offered him his body, Neit didn't refuse the opportunity to return to the plane of the living.   
  
But the brigand's body had been in a sad state, middle-aged, arthritic, unfit. It served Neit's purpose, lasted until he captured Nottingham but now this one was everything he could ask for.  
  
And right now he wanted a woman. There were 3 to choose from, indifferent in looks, but one was quite - skilled. Neit was very much enjoying this turn at living.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Sara checked into a hotel. Irons had invited her to stay in his suites - whether as a courtesy or to keep an eye on her she didn't know. Besides being uncomfortable being close to Irons, there was no way was she going to sleep with Ian's duplicate around. Though she might do better to keep him in sight rather than have him skulking about as the original Ian had, with perhaps more sinister intent. She didn't know why but he made her extremely uncomfortable and the Witchblade seemed to agree.  
  
Time to reevaluate what she was doing. She came to Ireland to talk to John's family and she had done that. In the process she acquired objects of power that had belonged to Cathain. Now Ian was captured by some Irish god that wanted her and the Witchblade also. Geez, how did she get into this? Answer - Danny. She owed him - big. How do you take a chunk of hide out of a ghost?  
  
When would she go back home? She hadn't talked to Gabe, or Jake, or Dante in days.  
  
Well, she would assume that when she got Ian away from Neit she could rejoin her life which was already in progress.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~  
A/N: Please review - what do you like, not like? 


	26. Church

Sara was up early pacing the floor; she couldn't sleep. Now that she knew who had Ian she was anxious to find him.  
  
"Sara, I know where Ian is but I'm not going to tell you until you pull yourself together." Danny appeared in his usual fashion, without warning.  
  
"Don't mess with me, Danny!"  
  
"No, you're wild to go find Ian. Your stomach is in a knot and you can't breath and there is a voice in your head saying 'do it now, do it now, do it now' - you're all set to make the same mistake that you made with John, walking into a firefight without backup."  
  
"So I'm not going to give you the information until you get a hold of yourself! For one thing there are usually 6 to twelve terrorists in the place. Too many for you to take on single handed - if you go by yourself you *will* get yourself or Ian killed."  
  
Sara felt like she would jump out of her skin if she didn't do something but Danny was right. "How come you know me so well?"  
  
"Sitting on all those stakeouts trying to keep you from blowing cover!"  
  
"OK, so far you've told me there are 6-12 terrorists, and I suppose I can assume they are all armed, right? Are they in a city, village, or what?"  
  
"They are in a manor house in the country, fairly isolated, some woods."  
  
"Probably can't sneak up on them, not in the day anyway. And to get Ian safe, I have to isolate him from the others."  
  
"Neit is using Ian's body so you can't count on Ian trying to get free" Danny said.  
  
"So I have to isolate Ian, take him against his will, and do whatever it takes to drive out Neit."  
  
"Right, so what are your resources?"  
  
"I suppose Irons might lend some muscle but he wants something in exchange and his Ian clone makes my skin crawl. Do you know what Irons wants, Danny?"  
  
"Whatever it is you know it's bad. You don't want Irons to have any claim on you." Danny replied.  
  
"Then there is Seanain or Edward Dougherty. One or the other of them might be willing to back me up, depending on which would like to see this terrorist group broken up."  
  
Danny said "I can show you the emblem of Neit's group and you can find out who they are." He sketched a symbol in the air. For a few brief seconds Sara saw a stick figure on its side with a curved line over it.  
  
"OK, Pez, do you feel better yet?."  
  
"Yeah, maybe I can pull this off without getting anyone killed. So where is he?"  
  
"Like I said, I know where he is but I don't know where that place is at. I can see everything that is within his sight. There is a landmark I can see, a church steeple. Maybe it is distinctive enough to find out where it is."  
  
"OK, let's go look for churches." Sara went out in search of tourist information. She was directed to a travel office nearby where she asked about churches, saying a friend told her to look at a particular one but she didn't know where it was. She looked at photos of churches until Danny recognized the steeple in Ian's vicinity. It was near Connemara.  
  
Sara decided to call Seanain. She would ask him to help liberate Ian; with any luck the hideout was within his jurisdiction. Constable Seanain was at the office. She described to him the symbol Danny had seen and Seanain was very interested.  
  
"These people have been quite a thorn in our side recently. They weren't very organized til then."  
  
"I think they are the one's behind the fight we had at Connemara and the auction on eBay. They've gotten some supernatural help and they are holding Ian." Sara said.  
  
"Can you tell me what they want Ian for?" He wasn't surprised to hear they were responsible for Ian's abduction.  
  
Sara hesitated to answer. It sounded so bizarre. She told him about Neit.  
  
Seanain wasn't too skeptical. He was learning to accept things that happened around the Witchblade. "We are definitely interested in closing down this group. If you know where they are we will put together an operation to capture them."  
  
Sara was relieved. Now she would have backup. *Are you happy, Danny?* she thought to herself.  
  
~~~~~~~~  
  
Sara quickly prepared to return and took off on Seanain's motorcycle. When she stopped for a brief break to stretch her legs, Danny was there again.  
  
"Sara, Cathain wants to talk to you."  
  
"How?"  
  
"The grey space." Danny said.  
  
Sara gripped the Witchblade and stepped forward, into the grey space. Cathain was waiting there.  
  
"You are going to face Neit."  
  
"Yeah, that's the plan." Sara wondered what Cathain knew.  
  
"I have fought beside Neit and I know his battle skills. If he should lure you into swordplay with the Witchblade you will be out matched. The Witchblade confers some advantages but Neit has years of experience with the sword. He will best you."  
  
"OK, so what do I do about it? Can I capture him without a swordfight?"  
  
"Perhaps you can, but remember this - if you do face him with the Witchblade you must let me fight him."  
  
"How? Like letting you use my body?"  
  
"If you face Neit in a swordfight, call me."   
  
"How do I get Neit out of Ian's body?" Sara asked the question that had been nagging her.  
  
"For that also you should call me." Cathain answered.  
  
"Something else," Cathain went on, "if you need a diversion, there is something you can do with the Witchblade and the First Blade. Here." Cathain took Sara's hand and gave instructions for a diversionary tactic.  
  
........  
  
Back at Constable Seanain's office everything was in full swing to capture the group that had Ian. They were planning on acting after dark.  
  
"Sara, you should know that I have another reason to be there besides capturing this group." Seanain said.  
  
"What?" Sara was focused on the objective, looking at maps. She didn't have a clue what Seanain was talking about.  
  
"If something happens to you, it is my duty to retrieve the Witchblade."  
  
That admission startled Sara but she realized that she was glad. "That's good, it's a relief to me to know it will be taken care of. And thanks for skipping all that 'everything's gonna be all right' crap."  
  
......... 


End file.
